Is Anybody Out There?
by DeiStarr
Summary: When grief threatens to overwhelm Harry Potter, the only person who can pull him out of it is Draco Malfoy. Meanwhile Draco himself is drowning in secret guilt that nothing can overcome – or can it? This is a story about grief and guilt, with a side of lust and love. It goes back and forth between post-epilogue story and eighth year Hogwarts story. Epilogue compliant. Slash. WIP
1. Chapter 1 - Hear Me

**Chapter 1: **Hear Me

**Title: **Is Anybody Out There?

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Harry Potter, he would have been snogging Draco Malfoy in the books, not just my fanfics.

**Pairings: **Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, Neville/Luna, brief Harry/Ginny, former Draco/Astoria.

**Rating: **R to be safe, though I don't intend to be too explicit.

**Warnings:** Slash, sex or implied sex, language, character death (not Harry or Draco), discussions of a past suicide, and past canonical child abuse.

**Summary:** When grief threatens to overwhelm Harry Potter, the only person who can pull him out of it is Draco Malfoy. Meanwhile Draco himself is drowning in secret guilt that nothing can overcome – or can it? This is a story about grief and guilt, with a side of lust and love. It goes back and forth between post-epilogue story and pre-epilogue, post-war story. Also, Scorpius and Albus are comic relief. Epilogue compliant.

**Author's** **Notes:** This is my first fanfic since I was eight. I'd really appreciate all the reviews I can get, letting me know what I'm doing wrong (or right). I don't intend to have graphic sex as a part of this, as I'm pants at writing it. Thanks, and enjoy!

* * *

**Is Anybody Out There?**

* * *

_Try to hear my voice_  
_You can leave, now it's your choice_

_Maybe if I fall asleep, I won't breathe right_  
_Maybe if I leave tonight, I won't come back_

_I said it before, I won't say it again_  
_Love is a game to you, it's not pretend_  
_Maybe if I fall asleep, I won't breathe right_

_Can nobody hear me?_  
_I've got a lot that's on my mind_  
_I cannot breathe_  
_Can you hear it, too?_

Hear Me - Imagine Dragons

* * *

"Come _on_, Dad; let's go!"

Scorpius tugged his hand, face flush with excitement. And why wouldn't he be excited, thought Draco wryly. It wasn't every day that young wizards made their first trek to Platform 9 and ¾ and the Hogwarts Express.

He glanced to his left, where Narcissa strode regally. A burst of gratitude flared inside him that Narcissa had insisted upon accompanying them to the station, as had happened so often in the last eleven years, over the many various tasks of child-rearing Narcissa had insisted on helping him with. Draco knew, even if he couldn't quite bring himself to admit it, that he would have been utterly lost without her.

It was unspoken between them, how much the two of them needed one another. After Lucius had been sent to Azkaban, Narcissa had been lost. She and Draco began to slowly, painfully attempt to rebuild their family name. He bore the mark of a Death Eater, but Harry Potter had testified on his behalf and that had gone a long way towards redeeming him in the eyes of the wizarding public. After all the years he'd spent hating Potter for his fame he'd never expected to reap any benefits from it, much less feel grateful for it, however grudgingly.

A few years passed in which funds were donated; charities and post-war causes supported, and Draco finally managed to acquire a job at the ministry – not because he needed money but because it helped to make him appear more respectable. Narcissa arranged a marriage for him with the pure-blood daughter of another rich and powerful family who had a fair bit of sway in politics; which Draco wasn't pleased about and he went along with it only because he knew that it would go a long way towards the rebuilding of their family name and respectability. That talking about his wedding had made Narcissa smile for the first time since his father had been sent away was purely irrelevant. That his objections had died on his lips upon seeing a glow in her eyes that hadn't been there since before the war didn't matter; it was politics. He was a Malfoy, and he didn't need emotions.

Guilt flooded him at the thought, and the image of a fair-haired woman, a beautiful young thing, rose unbidden in his mind. He quashed it quite firmly and thoroughly. He could not think of Astoria Greengrass now.

He quickened his pace, but said, "Scorpius, _behave_."

He was rewarded with a cowed look and a petulant sigh from the boy in front of him, who stopped trying to wrench his arm from its socket. The ghost of a smile crossed Draco's face, and Scorpius grinned back at him, unable to stay calm for long. The tugging resumed.

Draco let out a long-suffering sigh of his own and allowed himself to be dragged to the barrier. "Wait for your grandmother, Scorpius," he said, giving the boy a stern look.

Scorpius nodded, then began hopping from one foot to another in impatience. Draco opened his mouth, then shut it again. He wouldn't be seeing Scorpius again until the Christmas holidays. Why make his last memories of his father for some months be of reprimands for decorum? He reached out and stroked the boy's blonde hair indulgently.

"Da-_ad_!" Scorpius flushed and moved away from him.

He smiled. "You used to love that," he informed his son.

"When I was a _baby_, sure. I'm _eleven_ now, Dad, and I'm going away to school. What'll the other kids think if they see?"

Draco chuckled. "You win." His mask had slipped, but he didn't bother to correct it yet; he'd always struggled with the mask around his son, from the time he was born he had been like a tiny, squalling knife that cut right through Draco and all his pretenses. And since he was going away there would soon be no one around him who could cause him to falter.

His smile faded. He was going to have a lot of free time on his hands, and hadn't yet decided what he planned to do with it. He swallowed. Maybe he would go back to working at the ministry. It shouldn't be too difficult to secure a job there, and it would keep him occupied.

Narcissa had caught up and motioned to him to continue, so they did; straight through the barrier and onto the platform, and Scorpius had stopped bouncing around excitedly and instead stared in awe at the Hogwarts Express. Draco looked around, nostalgia sweeping over him. He hadn't been back since returning to complete his seventh year with the others in his age group who had missed out on a chunk of their education because of the war. It had been a miserable experience, in many ways. He'd been grateful to get his NEWTs and get out of there.

As his gaze swept the platform, he caught sight of the Weasley boy glaring at him. _And where he is,_ he thought, anxiousness filling him, _Potter's not far._ He tried to squash the thought, snapped his mask in place and tried not to show how nervous he was, suddenly.

And just as suddenly, Potter caught his eye, and gave a brief nod, before looking away. Draco's stomach flip-flopped dangerously, and his heart thudded in his chest. Potter looked – well, Potter looked great. His eyes were just as deep and intense as Draco remembered and had him holding his breath during their brief moment of contact to his own grey ones. His black hair just as thick and messy as it had always been, and Draco found himself thinking of his own slightly receding blond hairline with a faint tinge of embarrassment. The vanity he thought he'd buried long ago reared its head then, and he cringed, instinctively.

Then he shook his head, cleared it of Potter – as much as he could, at any rate – and focused on his son. Who was leaving. He wouldn't think of Potter at all while he was saying goodbye to his son. He got down on one knee to talk to Scorpius before he got on the train and out of the corner of his eye he saw Potter do the same with a boy who looked as much like his father as Scorpius looked like him. Mentally cursing Potter, he wrenched his attention back to his son.

"Scorpius," he began, "Be good. Obey your Head of House, your professors, and the Headmistress." Scorpius nodded, a look of fright passing over his face. "But dad," he hissed. "What if I'm… what if I'm a Hufflepuff?"

Draco bit back the urge to laugh out loud. He recalled every sneaky exploit, every cunning ploy his young son had used in the past eleven years, and snorted. "You are no Hufflepuff," he reassured him. "You're a Malfoy. Remember that!"

Scorpius beamed. "Yes, Dad!"

Draco did not believe in public displays of affection, but he couldn't help himself. He leaned forward and wrapped his son in a cautious embrace. "Be safe," he whispered. He released Scorpius and smiled at him, then rose to his feet. Scorpius stared in astonishment, then belatedly threw his arms around Draco's waist. "I love you, Dad!"

He flushed, feeling the eyes on him in the wake of Scorpius' loud announcement, but murmured, "I love you, too, Scorpius."

Scorpius grinned wildly. Draco wondered if he had failed somehow, in not teaching Scorpius to be distant and cold enough. He could put on a mask when reminded, but it failed him when he was over-excited.

Narcissa had finished using the enlarging charm on Scorpius' trunks, which had been shrunk down and stowed in her purse on their way to the platform, and she bent down now to embrace him. She spoke softly to him, and he calmed down while listening to her. Then they were walking towards the train, waiting while Scorpius clambered aboard, and watching his blonde head move out of sight. A lump formed in Draco's throat and he looked away.

The train started then, gushing steam and tooting like mad as it moved away, taking his boy with it. The boy he gave up his life to raise and spent the last eleven years devoting himself to and without whom he didn't know what to do with himself. He tried not to panic as he watched the train pull away, and he comforted himself that his trembling was barely noticeable. His mind was flooded with thoughts of "What now?" and he was afraid; afraid to be living life without his son as a daily constant.

Then, "Malfoy," the voice behind him said, and his mind was flooded with thoughts of a different kind, memories assaulted his faculties and he stiffened as he was overwhelmed by thoughts of Potter.

Potter, fingers outstretched, flying past him in a Seeker's game; heading for the snitch.

Potter, testifying at his trail; his voice clear and confident, his words filling Draco with a peculiar blend of hope and shame.

Potter, holding his hand out to Draco and helping him up off the ground where he lay after a group of students ganged up on him.

Potter, leaning against the dungeon wall, his face twisted in a devastating half-smile as he listened to Draco talk.

Potter, head thrown back, laughing into the night.

Potter, gasping and quivering as he came against Draco's hand.

He thrust the memories away, and summoned his sneer.

"Potter."

He turned and glared disdainfully, watching the smile die on Potter's lips. Those lips were every bit as full and pink as Draco remembered, and pain flared in his gut at the sight. The Weasel and Granger were giving him baleful looks, and the Girl Weasel slid her arms around Potter and chided him. "Don't be rude, Malfoy."

He wondered what she'd say if she knew what had happened between him and Potter. Wondered if she knew that he'd touched Potter before she did; made love to him before she did. He doubted it.

He opened his mouth to retort, but his mother put her hand on his arm. "Draco, please." She shot him a look of reproach. Then she smiled. "It's good to see you looking well, Harry."

He smiled again and dipped his head. "Same to you, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Please, call me Narcissa," she smiled at him and he flushed, as uncertain of how to proceed as he had been when she'd said the same to him eighteen years before. Draco's heart ached.

"Thanks, Narcissa," he murmured. "Seeing your grandson off?"

"Yes." Narcissa smiled again, sadly this time. "I don't know what we'll do without him. It'll be so quiet."

Potter nodded sympathetically. "I understand. I just saw off my two boys, one of them for the first time. It's hard to get used to."

"Ah," said Narcissa, "But you've still got one at home." She gestured to the little girl who was peering around Potter's leg, smiling shyly.

"Yes," Potter grinned. "She's our little angel – aren't you, Lily?"

Lily ducked her head, bashful while the adults around her chuckled.

Narcissa smiled. Draco glared. Potter cleared his throat.

"When I first saw you, I thought you were here with your wife," he said. Silence stretched awkwardly.

"Yes," said the Girl Weasel, apparently wanting to make a go of being friendly, since Potter was attempting it. "I'd love to meet her; where is she?"

"Dead," snapped Draco, annoyed by all the fake friendliness in the air. Not the least of which was his mother's friendliness with Potter. She only saw him as the reason she and Draco had avoided Azkaban, and therefore felt the need to be friendly towards him. Draco saw him and thought of Hogwarts, and everything that had passed between them before Potter had unceremoniously dropped him and never looked back.

Potter and his wife looked suitably chastised. "I'm sorry, Malfoy," he said softly. And he meant it. Draco could see it in his eyes. Those damn, beautiful deep green eyes that threatened to sweep him away.

"You didn't kill her." He shrugged.

There was an awkward silence, and the Girl Weasel, Granger, and the Weasel all started to talk at once, along the lines of, "Oh, would you look at the time!" Potter just stared at Draco sadly. The emotion in his eyes made Draco want to scream.

It wasn't fair. Potter wasn't supposed to affect him like this anymore. Goodness knew he had moved on, and he had three children. A happy wife. He loved her, and she loved him, and there was no room for Draco in that equation. There never had been; he had just been deluded enough to think there was for a brief time many years ago before reality so rudely awakened him. And Draco had married, had a son, and lived a comfortable life in those years. Potter was not supposed to make his heart pound and his gut wrench. Not anymore.

Narcissa agreed with the Girl Weasel and they bid each other goodbye. Draco tipped his head, and sneered at them. Potter most of all. He had the audacity to look hurt.

"What was that about?" whispered Narcissa, frowning at him as they walked away.

Draco's mouth twitched as he considered what to say. _Gee, mother, I'm gay and it seems I'm still in love with Harry Potter. Years ago he had great fun stringing me along and apparently I'm not over it. _

"We've never gotten along," he lied. If you cut out that summer following the war when Potter was working with him and his mother to keep them out of Azkaban, and the remainder of that year at Hogwarts, then it was true.

"You got along when he was keeping us out of prison," she said stiffly. "I should think I taught you to honour your debts better than that, Draco."

"Yes, Mother," he murmured. Silence lapsed as they headed for home; Draco began contemplating the best use of his time now that Scorpius' absence would leave him with an excess of it. Perhaps he would go to a Quidditch match.

He would not think of Potter. He would not.

It was just too damn painful.


	2. Chapter 2 - It's Where My Demons Hide

**Chapter Two: **It's Where My Demons Hide

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Harry Potter, Drarry would be canon.

* * *

_When you feel my heat_

_Look into my eyes_

_It's where my demons hide_

_It's where my demons hide_

_Don't get too close_

_It's dark inside_

_It's where my demons hide_

_It's where my demons hide_

~ Demons by Imagine Dragons.

* * *

Draco glowered at the wall, ignoring Potter as he chatted with Narcissa. Well, perhaps _chatted_ was the wrong word. As amicable as their discussion was, the subject was what exactly the Boy Wonder could do to keep Narcissa and Draco out of Azkaban.

"I owe you a life debt," Potter was saying, looking into her eyes earnestly. "I'll do whatever it takes to honour that."

"Thank you, Harry." Narcissa's voice was soft and warm. Only someone close to her, like Draco was, could see the strain in her eyes. "Would you like some tea?"

"If it's no trouble," Potter was smiling kindly, and Draco wanted to scream. _No, don't take tea; get out –leave! Now!_

On a logical level he understood that Potter needed to be there, they needed to go over his testimony and find out what kind of public support he was willing to offer them, but on an emotional one he just wanted the young man to _leave_.

Narcissa left the room. "Entertain our guest, Draco," she admonished before exiting. "Be civil." Then she was gone, and Potter turned his attention towards Draco. Of course he did.

"How you holding up, Malfoy?" Concern laced his voice, and those damn emerald eyes of his were filled with compassion. Draco broke.

"How am I holding up, Potter?" he snarled. "Why, I'm just peachy. Never been better. Always wanted to go to Azkaban, I hear it's lovely there."

"You won't be going if I have anything to say about it," Potter broke in roughly, his voice clipped and his face tightened.

"Ah, yes, I forgot, the wonders that the Boy-Who-Lived can accomplish with just his name. Must be nice to be able to make anything happen just by opening your mouth to the press." Draco knew he was being unreasonable; worse, he knew he might be scaring off their only chance. But he couldn't stop himself. "I bet you just love seeing me reduced to this; begging for favours and needing to borrow your fame." He spat the words, wishing he could have more control, that Potter didn't make him come so unhinged.

"No, Malfoy, I don't." Potter was facing him, tight-lipped and getting angry. "Believe it or not, but I don't hate you. And for your information, I'd do anything to get rid of my fame. But since it isn't going anywhere, I figure I might as well use it to help people like you and your mum. I know you don't deserve Azkaban, so if my fame helps keep you guys out of there, at least that's some good it's done."

Draco just clamped his mouth shut, afraid of what might come out if he opened it. He didn't hate Potter. Quite the contrary, in fact. But he'd spent so many years _trying_ to hate Potter and squashing anything but anger in his feelings towards the other boy that it was hard for him to react with anything less than vitriol to Potter.

It had been during fourth year, at the stupid Yule Ball when Draco had been made aware of his feelings towards Potter. He was glaring and fuming as Potter danced the opening dance with one of the Patil twins, and Pansy had begun to tease him. "You're jealous, Draco. You've got a Potter obsession, have had one since first year, and now I think you want to snog him."

Draco had recoiled in horror genuine enough for her to laugh it off as a joke, but half the horror stemmed from the fact that her words had given him a vivid mental image which was far from unpleasant. In fact, if the way his body reacted was any indication – and thank Merlin for robes that were loose and hid things well – the thought made him very excited. He had been horrified and embarrassed and altogether miserable.

It was after that night that he began to dream about Potter. Oh, he'd dreamed about Potter before, but not like this. Now he dreamed of touching him, kissing him, and more often than not these dreams left him gasping awake in the aftershocks of orgasm. He was pretty sure that he disliked Potter as a person, so why his body and mind were fixated on responding to him in the way they were left him absolutely clueless. Not to mention that he and Potter were on opposite sides of a war, so even if his hatred of Potter was nothing more than a defence mechanism, there was nothing to be done about it. Yet his thoughts were constantly filled with Potter, and Draco began to realize how much of the last four years had been spent obsessing over the other boy. It was something he couldn't seem to stop, no matter how hard he tried.

He noticed Potter, all the time, as though there was some sort of electrical current alerting him to Potter's presence at all times, zapping him whenever the other boy was near. He thought of Potter, frequently; wondered about his reactions and thoughts and words. He fantasized about Potter, constantly catching himself staring at the curve of Potter's throat; a curl of his hair nesting at the nape of his neck; his full, moist lips as a tongue darted out to lick them while Potter's brows were knit in concentration; or his calloused, knobbly hands.

Draco was absolutely wretched.

The more he wanted Potter, the more bitter and angry he became. And he took as much of it out on Potter as he could. He quashed any guilt he felt by reminding himself that this, quite literally, was war, and he'd be damned if the enemy was going to catch him wanking.

It was thus that Draco spent his Hogwarts years, and thus that he rode out the war. When his mother was being threatened and he was being forced to try to find a way to kill Dumbledore, he had a confrontation with Potter in an unused was caught crying, alone and vulnerable, by the last person he wanted to see.

He was terrified and angry and there was Potter, right in front of him. All his pain bubbled to the surface and he hardly knew what he was doing. "Crucio!" he'd tried to shout, but Potter was quicker.

"Sectumsempra!" he'd cried, and suddenly Draco was pain. Pain, and blood. He writhed on the floor, feeling the agony sweep through him that was both physical and emotional. He was vaguely aware of Professor Snape tending to his injuries. All he could truly think and feel was pain. Potter had hurt him; maybe tried to kill him. His chest was flayed open, and gushing blood. He'd tried to hurt Potter, and use an Unforgivable on him. He didn't know what hurt worse, the physical pain or the emotional; the weight of his own actions or Potter's.

He was left with three long white scars and two small silvery ones across his front. They would never go away. It became easier after that, to pretend that he hated Potter. To channel all the pain he felt into poisonous anger.

He had himself half convinced that he hated Harry Potter before the Snatchers came and plopped Potter down in front of him and demanded that he identify him. Potter's face was swollen from a hex but Draco knew it was him. Draco would know him anywhere. He looked into those brilliant green eyes and knew that this was his moment of truth. Realized, with growing horror, that he could not betray Potter – that he thought of it as betraying Potter, to be honest about who he was.

Things had become much more simple, yet infinitely more complicated after that. What was simple was that he was on Potter's side. What was complicated was how to keep anyone from finding out without betraying Potter. How to set Potter and his friends free.

Of course Potter managed to get free without his help; even performed Expelliarmus and took his wand. When Draco had the opportunity to go and reclaim it, everything went to hell – Vince conjured Fiendfyre and they all nearly died. Vince did die. And Potter… Potter saved his life. Swept him up onto his broom and managed to make it out of the roaring heat that threatened to engulf them. He clung to Potter's back, torn between hyperawareness of the danger he was in, the danger he'd just escaped, and hyperawareness of his own close proximity to Potter.

He had a dizzying impulse to nuzzle his face into the back of Potter's neck and trail little kisses down his spine, but he had a feeling that would be a disastrous idea. Especially while Potter was trying to navigate through Fiendfyre.

_I love you._

He'd never say the words, but that didn't mean he didn't think it. It was his secret, and he'd never tell anyone. Ever. He loved Potter. No one needed to know.

The moment he thought Potter was dead was the worst he'd ever experienced. He wanted to scream, to cry, to shriek to the universe that it wasn't right, wasn't fair, and please, gods, _no._ He kept his mask in place more through shock than through talent.

But then Potter was alive, and the world started turning again. The monster in his chest stopped clawing him, disemboweling him from the inside out.

And it was over. Potter won. With _his _wand.

He and his parents slipped away while everyone was celebrating. They returned to the Manor, because where else could they go? Narcissa began crying, tearing apart everything in sight that reminded them of the Dark Lord's presence. Lucius just sank to the floor and sat with his head in his hands.

They were going to wait there, dignified, until Aurors came to arrest them. But not yet. They would not be dignified yet. Now was the time to grieve; for the choices they'd made, the friends they'd lost, and the future they'd thrown away. Narcissa was in hysterics, and Lucius' shoulders shook silently as he sat on the floor in the entrance. Draco was numb. Then his father reached for him.

"Draco."

He moved towards his father and his father took Draco's hand in both his own, clasping it tightly.

"My son," he said, softly. "At least you are alive."

Narcissa came up and put her arms around them both, sobbing quietly into Draco's shoulder. He put his arms around her in response and she moaned, deep and guttural; a strangled sound.

"I don't know what I would have done if you had died," she whispered brokenly. "My Draco,my baby." He allowed himself to cry then, too, all the emotions of the last few hours pouring out of him in a flood.

By the time the Aurors arrived they were presentable, waiting in the drawing room. They were cuffed, and their wands taken. There was a bit of a problem when the Aurors asked for Draco's wand, and he tried to explain he didn't have it.

"Harry Potter has it," he repeated. "He disarmed me and took off with it, and I haven't been able to get it back from him." They glared at him distrustfully, but a thorough search turned up no wand on his person, and they finally decided to sort out the matter of his missing wand at the Ministry.

They were led outside, beyond the wards, when suddenly a figure Apperated in right in front of them. "Stop!" he bellowed, eyes wild, hair even more so. "Don't arrest them!"

They stopped in surprise, and it took Draco seconds to register the lanky figure in front of them, with his tousled black hair, dark green eyes, and the jagged lightning bolt scar cut across his forehead.

"Potter?" he gasped.

The Aurors looked suitably caught off guard. "Mr. Potter, they are Death Eaters, and they need to be brought in for questioning…"

"Questioning, alright," Potter said smoothly. "Arresting them, no. Narcissa Malfoy saved my life. Without her aid I would be dead and Voldemort would have won."

The Aurors looked as stunned as Draco felt. He also felt a surge of pride within him for his mother, and shot her a smile. She was staring at Potter like she hadn't expected him to remember.

Potter seemed to notice the look on her face, because he inclined his head towards her. "Mrs. Malfoy, I owe you a life debt. The entire wizarding world owes you a debt. I'll see to it that these debts are paid." His voice was confident, his smile warm, and oh gods, Draco wanted to kiss him. He took an involuntary step forward, and felt the bonds around his wrists tighten. That snapped him back to reality.

Narcissa had started crying again. "She will not go to Azkaban," Potter said, his voice soft and dangerous. "Release her."

"Draco," Narcissa whispered.

"Mal- Draco, too." Potter folded his arms across his chest. "It was only because of his wand that I was able to defeat Voldemort. And he's not a killer. I'll be testifying on his behalf at trial." He gazed steadily at the men holding Draco and his family.

The Aurors shifted uneasily. "We can't just…"

"I take full responsibility for them." Potter glared. "Unbind them, and bring them back here after questioning. They won't run. Where would they go? They had the chance to run already and they didn't do it," he added, raising a hand to the objections forming on the lead Auror's lips.

"You'll have to speak to the Head Auror," he began to relent.

"Of course." Potter straightened his head. "But for now, unbind them. I'll come with you and speak to the Head Auror."

There was a moment's hesitation, then Draco felt the bindings on his wrists disappear. He stared in wonder, trying to process everything that had just happened.

Potter gave them a tentative smile. Together, they Apperated back to the Ministry, where they waited their turn to answer questions and tell their stories.

Potter insisted on sitting in with each one of them during the questioning; even Lucius. Draco wasn't present for his mother or father's questioning, but during his own Potter sat next to him and squeezed his hand when Draco began to shake. "It'll be alright," he promised. "That's what I'm here for." He objected every time he felt a question violated Draco's rights, kept things civil, and offer support and confirmation of many of the things Draco said.

Draco was shocked and ashamed to learn that Potter had witnessed both the events on the Astronomy Tower under the cover of an Invisibility Cloak, and his actions through Voldemort's eyes and Potter's scar connection to him.

He confirmed to the Aurors that Draco was not a killer, and his crimes had been performed under duress. He also pointed out that Draco had likely saved his life by not turning him in to the Snatchers. "I'll gladly offer my memories to a pensieve, or take Veritiserum."

After the questioning Draco pulled Potter aside. "Why are you doing this?" He needed to know.

Potter's gaze looked right through him. "Because I owe your mother a life debt, and because it's the right thing to do."

Potter couldn't testify on Lucius' behalf, but he convinced Lucius to testify using Veritiserum so that people would know he had truly been afraid for the lives of his family during the war, and had acted to protect them.

Potter's testimony and assistance won Narcissa her freedom, spared Lucius the Kiss, and bought Draco a very light sentence of Community Service – assisting in the rebuilding efforts at Hogwarts – and House Arrest that included provisions for allowing him to attend Hogwarts once it reopened and complete his education. In fact, it was mandatory that he do so.

Potter was always there, smiling encouragingly at him, patting him on the back, squeezing his hand. He was heady with it. He forgot to be angry, to be spiteful and to sneer. He would smile genuinely and while he was still snarky, Potter could appreciate his wit, once it was no longer directed at him like a weapon. He loved to make Potter laugh, and did so often. Potter looked so haunted, whenever he wasn't speaking or listening to someone speak, and Draco wanted to make it go away.

The trials were over much too quickly for Draco's liking. But then Potter was at the rebuilding too, so that was alright. He sought Draco out a few times and Draco even timidly sought him out on occasion as well, and Potter always greeted him like a friend. As though they had never been enemies.

One day when Draco was changing his sweat-soaked top, Potter happened along. He stopped and stared at Draco's chest. Draco flushed. "See something you like?" he drawled.

Potter blushed. "I'm sorry," he said, raising his eyes to Draco's face. "Really sorry." The amount of sorrow in his eyes startled Draco. "I honestly had no idea what that spell would do, and I never would have used it if I'd known."

Draco realised with a start that Potter was thinking of his scars, and the old Sectumsempra incident. "It's okay," he forced a grin, though he was still blushing madly. "Haven't you ever heard that a man with scars is irresistible? I can't let you take all the glory, Potter."

Potter stared for a minute, then laughed – a clear, ringing sound that made Draco's heart race. "Well," he coughed. "Thank you."

"Now," Draco continued, "Did you need me for something, or were you just here to watch the show?" He gave a little hip wiggle and struck a sexy pose, and Potter burst out laughing again.

Their friendship continued into the term at Hogwarts, and Draco was unfathomably happy. That is, until the Weasels began to chip away at his happiness, bit by bit. First, the Weasel was always on Potter's back about him. "Mate, I don't get it. This is _Malfoy._ He's an evil git. I get that you felt like you owed his mum something so you helped out with the trials, but this is ridiculous, Harry. Have you forgotten what he did?" The Weasel was rude to him to his face, and Potter struggled to keep the peace between them whenever they were in the same room.

Then there was the Girl Weasel. Always there, always hanging on Potter, finding excuses to touch him, to stay around him. Draco hated her. He hated that she thought she had a chance with Potter, and he hated that she might be right – at least, she had more of a chance then he did, and he hated her for that most of all. He hated that she and Potter had history.

He was unwelcome at school by most of the student body. They hated him, and would pound him to a bloody pulp or hex him into agony as soon as they thought they could get away with it. He became very adept at Shield charms and quickly learned that it was best if he cast Disillusionment charms on himself when not in class. It didn't always work.

It was after one such beating that Potter found him, bleeding and dizzy, leaning against the wall on the way to see Madam Pomfrey. "Malfoy?" he gasped. "What happened?"

"Accident," Draco rasped.

Potter looked skeptical. "Malfoy, I'm not blind. Who did this?"

"Doesn't matter." Draco shrugged.

"It does to me," Potter said stubbornly.

Draco stumbled and fell, and Potter caught him. "Let's get you to Madam Pomfrey," he said through gritted teeth. "You're a wreck."

"Always… with the compliments, Potter," coughed Draco. Potter grinned in spite of himself, though it quickly faded as he helped Draco along the corridor towards the hospital wing.

Once there Madam Pomfrey fussed over Draco, getting him into a bed and muttering a few healing spells over the worst of his injuries, and handing him a potion for the pain. "Honestly, child, who keeps doing this to you?"

Potter started. "This has happened before?"

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Frequently."

Potter turned back to Draco, and his stare was glacial. "Who is it? Who keeps hurting you?"

Draco snorted, feeling light-headed now that the pain potion was kicking in. "Who doesn't, would be a better question. Honestly Potter, it's alright. I'm not dead."

Potter clenched his fists. "But it's not right, Malfoy. They can't keep doing this to you. It has to stop!"

Draco shrugged. "I don't know who they are, half the time," he pointed out. "It doesn't matter, anyway."

"But it does!" Potter shouted, then winced as Madam Pomfrey gave him a baleful glance, and lowered his voice. "It matters to me."

Draco felt a warm glow run through him at those words. He felt like he could die happy. Or maybe that was the pain potion.

Madam Pomfrey said, "He'll be out cold soon enough, and needs some rest. He'll be right as rain when he wakes up." Potter nodded. "I trust you'll be leaving soon, then?" she asked. He nodded again. "Good." She bustled away, into her office.

"Do you need anything, Malfoy?" Potter asked anxiously. "Is there anything you want?"

Draco blamed the combination of the potion, and Potter's earlier words and obvious concern for making him too brave. "Yeah, Potter," he said, staring into those deep green eyes hungrily. "There is."

Draco reached out, cupped the back on Potter's neck in his hand, and pulled him into a kiss. Potter let out a startled cry, but Draco held him firm and slipped his other arm around Potter's back, under his arm, his hand coming to rest just over his shoulder.

It was Draco's first kiss, and he was slightly hesitant, but eager as he nipped at Potter's lips and pressed his lips to the other boy's. Potter didn't pull away. Other than the start he gave when Draco first kissed him, he remained rigid. Draco was determined to make the best of it while he could. He slid his tongue inside Potter's mouth, and began teasing with it. Then, with a little moan, Potter began to reciprocate. Draco had never felt so happy. He sat up more, pressing into Potter, and the other boy pressed back.

Draco felt the potion taking hold of him more completely, and pulled back reluctantly, as everything began to fade. The last thing he saw was Potter sitting at his bedside, eyes wide, pupils dilated, panting and looking both alarmed and confused.

* * *

Draco sat up in bed and groaned. He'd been dreaming about the first time he kissed Potter, and it had left him with a raging hard-on like he hadn't had in ages. He flopped back on the pillows, torn between the desire to take care of it and the desire to avoid thinking of Potter – as he was sure he would – at all costs.

He gave in to temptation and had a morning wank after all. He justified to himself that even if he did think about Potter a little bit during it, just this once wouldn't hurt. Afterwards he muttered a cleaning charm and tumbled out of bed.

He wondered idly what his son was doing, and was wracked by waves of something akin to homesickness, but for a person, not a place. It was a feeling he knew all too well.

Resolving to write his son a letter, he stood and smoothed his hair with his hands. It had been a week; surely he had waited long enough that a missive from home would not embarrass the boy. As if on cue, an owl tapped at the window. He hurried over and opened it, smiling as he recognized the new bird he and Narcissa had bought for Scorpius. He'd named her Fleeting, insisting that it meant she was fast, and Draco had laughed too hard to insist on correcting him back. He took the letter and fed the owl a biscuit that had been left out on his bedside table overnight. It hooted.

He sat down to read.

_Dear Dad,_

_How are you? Do you miss me yet? I miss you guys, though it's been so busy I haven't had a chance to think about it too much._

_I got sorted into Slytherin – you were right, Dad, the Sorting Hat laughed at me when I told it I didn't want to be a HufflePuff and said the same thing you did. It thought about putting me in Griffindor but I asked it not to. I didn't think you'd be very happy about that._

_I made a good friend named Albus Potter. He wanted to be a Griffindor, but the hat didn't give him a choice. It just yelled, "Slytherin!" as soon as it touched his head and he looked so scared it was funny. He's really sly, though, and you can see why he's a Slytherin right off. He's also really nice, and we're pretty close already._

_I love DADA and Potions. But Al is better at Potions than me – it makes me a little bit jealous. Can he come over on Christmas break? I really want you to meet him. _

_You haven't sent me a letter yet, Dad. Grandmother did but I haven't got one from you. What, are you glad I'm gone? Just joking. But seriously; write to me. I miss you._

_Lots of Love, _

_Scorpius._

_P.S. Can you send my broom? Al and I have a plan to try out for the Quidditch team even though technically first years aren't allowed; since they've made exceptions in the past we might be able to make them make one now. It just has to look like an accident since they might get cross if they think we're manipulating them._

Draco smiled. He felt a pang of guilt for not having written to his son yet, even though he'd held off due to Scorpius asking him to. He felt unaccountably proud of his son, though the name "Albus Potter" had left him with a hollow feeling in his stomach. He supposed their sons could be friends without him and Potter having to actually have much to do with each other. He hoped.

He shuffled for some parchment to write a reply.

_Dear Scorpius,_

_I'm quite glad to hear you're doing so well. Of course I've missed you; although you were the one who asked me to wait at least a week before sending you a letter so you wouldn't look like you had a dad that smothered you. Or did that slip your mind? Next time I shall simply disregard anything you say to me and write to you anyway._

_I'm glad you've made a good friend, and he's welcome to visit, if his parents agree. I'm also glad you're enjoying Potions; I know it was always one of my favourite classes. Defense Against the Dark Arts is one of the most useful classes you'll take. Make sure to work hard on your shield charms._

_I'll send your broom later today; just don't break any rules. I expect to hear the full story once you're done._

_I love you, and I'm proud of you, son._

_Lots of Love,_

_Dad_

Draco finished his letter and slipped it into an envelope. Handing it to the bird he murmured, "Go on, then, Fleeting." Fleeting took off, and was soon lost to sight. He sighed.

He stretched. Wondered what to do with himself. He thought of Scorpius' request and smiled. "I think I fancy a game of Quidditch," he said. So he moved to get dressed.


	3. Chapter 3 - Nothing Left To Say

**Chapter Three: **Nothing Left To Say

**Disclaimer: **If I owned HP, Drarry would be canon. But I don't and it's not. More's the pity.

* * *

_Who knows how long I've been awake now?_

_The shadows on my wall don't sleep_

_They keep calling me, beckoning_

_Who knows what's right?_

_The lines keep getting thinner_

_My age has never made me wise_

~ Nothing Left to Say – Imagine Dragons

* * *

Draco heaved a sigh as he settled in to watch the game. It wouldn't start for another half hour or so, but he'd gotten here early and managed to snag a good seat – in the box where friends and family of the teams would be seated. There were benefits to being wealthy. Not that he would have managed such a feat with a regular Quidditch game, but this wasn't regular Quidditch. It was the latest in a series of England All Stars Quidditch games, featuring celebrities and a few retired Regional Quidditch players who were still young enough to hop back onto their brooms. There weren't any Regional games today, but this would do, he thought. He opened his program and began reading.

A few minutes later he started violently and blinked at his program. One of the Chasers for the Reds was Ginny Weasley-Potter. He knew she'd been a Chaser for the Harpies at one point, but she had retired. He hadn't thought to see her playing Quidditch again. He sat there, stunned, and contemplated leaving. Then he heard a familiar voice behind him and sank into his seat in horror.

"Malfoy?" There was a note of disbelief in the voice that called his name.

He swallowed and turned around. "Potter." His lips curled back in distain. "Fancy meeting you here."

Potter chuckled. "That's what I was going to say. Small world, isn't it?" He nudged the tyke hiding behind his legs. "Lily, this is Mr. Malfoy. He and Daddy and Mummy all went to school together. Malfoy, this is my youngest, my daughter, Lily."

Draco wasn't sure what to say to that, so he let it be. He turned back to his program, pointedly ignoring the other man and his daughter. Potter, however, proved that he couldn't take a hint by seating himself next to Draco and beginning to try and engage him in small talk.

"Have you been to any of the other All Stars Games?"

"No." His voice was curt.

"We went to a few with the boys. They're pretty good. Not on the level of National or even Regional Quidditch, mind you, but still enjoyable. I bet you'll like it."

Draco made a noise in the back of his throat and continued ignoring Potter.

"They talked me into playing a couple of games; I'm slated to be Seeker for the Yellows." He chuckled again. "I'll be playing my wife next week if her team wins this game, which I'm sure it will. I'm not as good as most of the talent they've got lined up for these games – " Draco snorted – "But I miss playing Quidditch and it's for a good cause, after all – the proceeds go to St. Mungo's." He paused, and when Draco didn't say anything he cleared his throat, awkwardly.

"So, it seems our boys are good friends," he tried again. Draco gave him a baleful look. Just because the sons were friendly didn't mean the fathers had to be.

"From what Al says, Scorpius is a good kid."

Draco nodded, but didn't look up from his program. Potter shifted in his seat, obviously growing uncomfortable with the silence.

Draco stared at his program in silence for a few minutes and when Potter rose and walked away, congratulated himself on successfully avoiding a conversation with the man. He debated whether to leave or not, the tiny part of him that was no doubt a glutton for punishment whispering that it wouldn't do any harm just to sit by Potter for the duration of the game. He could pretend they were there together. Draco angrily throttled that inner voice, and almost didn't notice the hand that was tapping him at first.

When he did he looked up and blinked.

"My Mummy's playing Chaser!" A pair of big green eyes looked back at him solemnly. Potter's eyes. The little girl had thick red curls, a dimpled smile, and her father's mesmerizing eyes.

"Yes, I know that," he found himself answering. "Are you excited to see her?"

"Uh huh!" She nodded emphatically, her curls bobbing every which way and he couldn't help smiling at her. "My mummy's gonna win!"

Draco laughed. "Let's hope so!" Her enthusiasm was infectious. He beckoned her closer without thinking. She leaned in. "Even if your mom wins today, your dad's gonna win next week. He's the best Seeker I've ever seen!"

Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in a little "O". She sucked in a breath. "Really?"

He laughed again. "Really," he assured her. "Back at Hogwarts he was the youngest Seeker in more than a century!"

"Wow," she breathed, eyes shining. Draco chuckled again, then glanced up. Potter stood there, grinning at him like a loon.

"Gee, Malfoy," he drawled. "You were pleasant and the world didn't grind to a screeching halt! Will wonders never cease!"

"Shut up, Potter," he muttered, his face flaming.

"But this proves that you are capable of being nice. You just don't want to be," Potter continued, still wearing the same shit-eating grin. "Squeeze over, Lils," he added, and the little girl moved over so her father could sit down. She was now sitting next to Draco, and he was both grateful not to be seated next to Potter and dismayed that the disarming young thing who had so successfully breached his defences was that much closer to him. Potter handed her a bottle of pumpkin juice – apparently that's where he'd gone when he'd gotten up, to buy drinks. He surprised Draco by offering a Butterbeer.

"Don't say no, Malfoy; I already bought you one."

Draco hesitated, then accepted it. This wasn't being friends with Potter, after all, he consoled himself, it was just… being civil since they happened to be in the same place at the same time watching the same game. He was allowed to be civil, wasn't he?

His inner conscience whispered that being civil with Potter was a slippery slope and did he really want to go down there? But Draco quashed it and decided to just enjoy the outing without worrying too much about ruining Potter's bad impression of him. After all, if the man was going to be friendly whether Draco was or not, he might as well enjoy it while it lasted and while the Weasels were nowhere in sight, for once.

"Thanks, Potter," he said, then winced at the way Potter seemed to brighten as if Draco had just given him a gift, not the other way round.

"See?" Potter smirked. "You might act prickly but you're not really all that bad, Malfoy."

Draco didn't trust himself to answer, so he just opened his Butterbeer and took a swig.

The game was starting, fortunately, and Potter's attention was drawn away. Draco settled in and prepared to enjoy the game.

It was a decent game, although the Blue Keeper was doing a rather horrendous job. Draco had made up his mind that he would root for the Blues just to avoid cheering for Potter's wife, but their Keeper was so awful he didn't have the heart to do so. Not to mention that he really couldn't help being driven along by Lily Potter's enthusiasm and cheering against her was a losing battle at best.

Ginny Weasley-Potter had just thrown the Quaffle past the Blue Keeper for the twelfth time when it happened. A Bludger came up behind her and struck her on the back of the neck. There was a sickening crack and she slid off her broom, tumbling to the ground below. The audience gave a collective gasp, and there were a few scattered screams. The other players raced towards her, trying to catch her before she hit the ground. Potter leapt to his feet and cast a cushioning charm. Despite the distance, Draco could see it take hold, and the Girl Weasel landed safely. She lay still and unmoving.

Potter's face was white. He turned to Draco. He gestured, incoherent for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Could you…?" He motioned to Lily again, and Draco nodded without hesitation. "Merlin, Potter, yes; I'll look after her, just… go!"

Potter nodded and ran for the Apparition Point. Lily stared at her mother's prone form, white and trembling where she stood. Draco caught her arm and pulled her back, into her seat. "It's okay, it's gonna be alright," he reassured her. She started crying and he put his arms around her, stroking her back with small circles. "It's okay, Lily. It's going to be fine." She clung to him and sobbed harder. Draco hesitated, then scooped her up and began walking towards the Apparition Point.

They Apperated to St. Mungo's, where Draco requested to know where Ginerva Weasley-Potter had been taken. The mediwitch behind the counter was rude and unhelpful, and Draco kept his temper only by remembering that it would only upset Lily further if he lost it. She cried so hard that she eventually fell asleep in his arms. He walked around, aimlessly, until he spotted Potter sitting on the floor in the corridor with his head in his hands. He walked up.

"How is she?" He slid down next to Potter, carefully, so as not to wake Lily. She was heavy – nine years old after all – and he wasn't used to carrying around a child anymore now that Scorpius had outgrown it.

Potter looked up at him, unseeing. His gaze simply didn't seem able to register Draco's presence.

"The Girl Wea– Ginny. How is she?" Potter gave a broken little laugh. It frightened Draco.

"The Bludger snapped her neck," he whispered.

Draco swallowed. That was serious. "It'll be alright, Potter," he said, forcing a confidence he didn't feel. "There are spells, potions that can take care of-"

"Painless." Potter intoned, ignoring him. He began rocking back and forth, slowly. "They said it was painless. She didn't feel a thing."

Draco stared, feeling his gorge rise. "You mean…" He didn't finish. He didn't have to. Magic could heal almost anything, but one thing it couldn't fix was death. You couldn't heal dead.

"I'm sorry, Potter," he whispered. He reached out, and put his hand on Potter's shoulder. Potter gave a half strangled cry in the back of his throat and folded into Draco, his head tucking into Draco's collarbone, resting on his shoulder, sobbing silently. "Shhh, I know. I know, Babe, I know." Draco didn't notice the pet name and neither did Potter, one simply desperate to comfort and the other to be comforted.

They sat like that for what may have been a long time, but Draco didn't know. His heart was breaking for Potter, and he didn't care anymore that the Girl Weasel had taken what was his and made it hers. He didn't want her gone, not if losing her was going to hurt Potter like that. It was breaking his heart and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

"Harry?" A voice called out, and Draco looked up with a start. Granger and the Weasel were there, looking around for Potter. He lifted his hand and waved. They caught sight of him and hurried over.

"Harry, mate, what the hell are you doing here with Malfoy?" The Weasel was obviously agitated. Draco glared at him.

"Shut it, Weasel. I just happened to be there because I fancied a game of Quidditch, and didn't know who was playing until I got there. And my heart's not made of stone; I wasn't going to leave these two alone. You'd think you'd be less concerned about my presence, and more concerned about the fact that your best friend and his daughter just watched their wife and mother die."

"Die?" Granger's eyes went wide. The Weasel went white, and put a hand on the wall to steady himself.

"Not funny, Malfoy," he whispered. "She- Ginny's my sister. My baby sister. That isn't funny."

"You didn't know?" Draco felt a pang of guilt, though his hatred for the Weasel was such that it was a very small pang.

"The hospital just contacted us and said that there'd been an accident." Granger's eyes were wide and frightened. "They didn't say… Oh god, Harry, is it true?"

Potter was still doing that silent sobbing thing into Draco's neck and didn't hear her. Draco fixed her with a weary stare. "It's true, Granger."

The Weasel slid down to the ground across the hall from where Draco, Harry and Lily sat. "How?" he whispered.

"Bludger snapped her neck," Draco said softly. "They said it was painless. She didn't feel a thing." He was vaguely aware that he was parroting Potter's words, but since he didn't have any other details there wasn't much else he could say.

Granger slid her arms around the Weasel and he turned into them, sobbing loudly. She clutched him, blinking back tears of her own. "Oh hon," she said. "I'm so sorry." They began to weep together, and Draco just sat there staring into the distance, his hands tracing small circles across the backs of the pair that leaned on him. He closed his eyes. He was so damn tired, all of a sudden. He felt utterly helpless in the face of their grief.

Lily stirred in her sleep, and he realised she was beginning to wake. Knowing she would ask after her mother when she did, he gently roused Potter.

"Potter?"

He didn't respond.

"Harry." The name felt strange on his tongue from disuse. "Harry, you have to get up now, love." He realised what he'd said and thanked Merlin that everyone around him was too caught up in their grief to notice it. "Harry," he tried again, shaking his shoulder. "I understand that you're in shock right now, but your daughter's waking up, and she's going to need you. You need to snap out of this, Harry." His voice was gentle, but firm. "Get up."

Potter lifted his head and stared at Draco, their faces mere inches apart. "Malfoy?" His eyes were red and swollen. Draco was suddenly aware that the front of his robes was soaked with tears and snot from Potter crying all over them. He didn't mind.

"Lily, Potter," he said, gently, motioning to the girl stirring in his arms. "She's going to need her Daddy." Potter stared, then nodded.

"I…" he began, then swallowed. "Thanks, Malfoy."

"No problem," Draco said easily. "What else is an ex-enemy for, after all?"

Potter tried to smile, then gave it up as a bad job. He drew a shuddering breath, his eyes watering. He glanced around, then stopped. "Ron? Hermione?"

"Harry." Hermione reached for him and he moved to embrace her and Ron. Draco looked away as the trio clung to each other, absorbed in their grief. Lily stirred in his arms again, then lifted her head. "Where's Mummy?" she asked, her voice thin and frightened. "Mr. Malfoy, where's my Daddy?"

"Shhh, he's right here," Draco murmured in the most comforting tone he could muster.

"Daddy?"

Potter straightened, and took a deep breath to calm himself. "Here, Lils." He reached for her and she launched herself at him, latching on and clinging to him for dear life. It would have looked comical under different circumstances.

"Where's Mummy?"

Potter's face twisted over Lily's shoulder; it was fortunate, Draco thought, his heart breaking anew, that Lily couldn't see it. Potter floundered, struggled to find words to express the loss to his daughter. Draco rose to leave; this wasn't his grief, he was no longer needed here. Potter reached out a hand and grabbed the hem of his robes, though, stopping him in his tracks. He flickered a pleading look at Draco, and Draco reeled mentally. _He wants me here. _He felt a pang of guilt for the flutter he felt at the thought. He stayed where he was, waiting to step in whenever Potter needed him again.

But Potter released him, and drew in a ragged breath. "Lils," he said, halting, "Mummy had an accident. A bad one."

"I know," whispered Lily. "I saw. Is she going to be okay? Can I see her?"

Potter's shoulders shook and he struggled not to break down. "No, Lils," he whispered. "Mummy's not okay."

And the little girl began to cry, and Potter clutched her for dear life and cried with her. Granger and the Weasel were there, putting their arms around the two and crying with them, and Draco slipped away; leaving them to mourn in private.

* * *

"C'mon, Scorp!"

Scorpius hesitated for just a moment, then hoisted his broom and scampered after Al. He wasn't so sure about Project Make The Quidditch Team In First Year, as Al had proclaimed it, but he had to admit the idea was really tempting. And he could just imagine how proud his dad would be if he _did_ make the team.

They crept up to the equipment shed, and Al pointed his wand at the lock. "Alohamora!" The look of pure glee on his face as the lock gave way made Scorpius doubt for a few moments whether this was really such a great idea. Somehow, he had the feeling that this constituted breaking the rules, which his dad had warned him not to do, but Al had dismissed his trepidation with the reminder that there was not, in fact, a specific rule which forebade them from doing what they were about to do.

They laid their brooms down. Slipping inside, they began to hunt until Al let out a triumphant cry and began dragging out the case that contained the Quidditch balls. They each grabbed an end and wrestled it out of the shed and onto the pitch.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Al?" Scorpius asked dubiously. Al scowled at him.

"Don't tell me you're getting cold feet again –"

"No," Scorpius said quickly. "Not that. I just think that maybe we should stick to one position."

Al shook his head vehemently. "We don't know which positions they're having tryouts for, Scorp. So if we want to show them we can play whatever they need us to, we have to play all of them. And we can't play one at a time," he stopped Scorpius' next objection before he could voice it. "Because we only get one shot at it and we need to make sure we're playing the positions they need when they see us. Besides," and there was that maniacal gleam in his eyes again that both worried and enthralled Scorpius, "If we can pull this off, they'll be so impressed they'll know we can do _anything._ We'll get on the team for sure!"

Scorpius privately thought that attempting to play every Quidditch position simultaneously was more likely to land them in the hospital wing than the Quidditch team, but Al's enthusiasm was contagious.

He leaned over the case and opened the latch. It sprang open, and there lay the Quaffle, the Bludgers straining in their bindings, and the Golden Snitch. The boys exchanged an excited look, and began releasing the Bludgers and the Snitch. The balls soared through the air, and Al grabbed the Quaffle, they both grabbed their brooms and they each grabbed a bat, and the two boys launched themselves into the air.

Scorpius' heart was beating like a trip hammer, and he thought to himself, _Hit the Bludgers, catch and toss the Quaffle, find the Snitch. _Easy enough in theory.

Not so easy, it proved, in practice.

He and Al quickly became exhausted with fending off the Bludgers, and he had no idea how Al was managing to continue to score with the Quaffle while avoiding getting bludgeoned to death by the damn Bludgers. He was vaguely aware that they had an audience; other first and second years had gathered at the windows and were watching them with open admiration. It wouldn't be long before a teacher saw them. All they needed was for some member of the Slytherin Quidditch team to spot them first, and see how brilliant they were. Rather, how brilliant Al was. Scorpius privately suspected he had practiced this form of Quidditch in the past; there was no other explanation for his talent.

Al once again tossed the Quaffle past him and scored yet again, and Scorpius almost fell off his broom as a Bludger zoomed past him from behind. Pretty soon the game would be Al's; Snitch or no Snitch. Suddenly he spotted a flash of gold and took off like a shot to pursue it.

Al realised what he was doing and followed, but Scorpius had a head start. And he might not be that handy with the bats or the Quaffle, but one thing he was for certain was fast. He flew faster, faster, higher, higher, his arm outstretched, and suddenly there was the Snitch, caught in his hand. He opened his mouth to crow, heard Al yelling something, and suddenly a Bludger rammed him full force in the chest. He gasped, unable to breath, and slid off his broom as everything went dark.

When he woke he was in the hospital wing, and Madam Pomfrey was fretting about him. He tried to sit, then cried out as he fell back on the bed. Pain shot through his chest and he saw stars.

"Lie back, dear," Madam Pomfrey admonished him. "I gave you a potion but your ribs haven't finished healing yet, not to mention the bruising. I've got a salve for that." She glared at him. "You're lucky to be alive, young man. You're lucky your friend caught you on his broom and held off the Bludgers until the teachers could settle things."

He nodded meekly. He felt grateful to Al for saving him, conveniently forgetting that it was Al's idea in the first place that had put him in danger.

Speak of the devil, the door banged open and Al barged in, for all the world like a Gryffindor. Scorpius grinned weakly. He'd never tell Al that; he'd be far too pleased by the comparison and Scorpius wanted Al to prefer his own house.

"Scorp!" Al shouted. "Are you alive?"

Scorpius grinned wider. "Nope," he croaked. " 'M dead." Then he lay still, closing his eyes and folding his hands over his chest in a pose of mock death.

"Sco-_orp_!" Al rolled his eyes. He plopped himself into a chair beside the bed. "So," he continued conversationally. "I just got lectured for about an hour by the old bat."

Scorpius grinned again, then his eyes widened and he shrank down in his bed. The old bat in question, Headmistress McGonagall, was standing over Al's shoulder. She did not look pleased.

"Mr. Malfoy," she intoned. Scorpius swallowed and nodded. "Pray what were you attempting, besides trying to get yourself killed?"

It occurred to Scorpius that he should lie, and find a way out of this situation, but one look in the headmistress' eyes convinced him that she would likely not believe anything but the truth. "We… we wanted to show that we could play any position in Quidditch well enough to make the team, Ma'am."

"Scorp!" hissed Al. "What kind of Slytherin are you?" _Oh, _now _he thinks acting like a Slytherin is a good thing._ Scorpius rolled his eyes.

"Mr. Potter," the headmistress glared at him, "I'll thank you to wait outside."

"But –"

"No buts." Even Al quailed under her stare, and he meekly rose, turned, and slipped out the door. "See ya at supper, Scorp!" he called before vanishing.

"With all due respect, Headmistress," Scorpius ventured, "Why is it that first years can't try out? There have been exceptions made in the past to let first years play if they were talented enough." He was grateful now for Al's story about his father, the youngest Seeker in a century, as it gave him ammunition. "It makes the first years take to drastic measures to get noticed."

He could have sworn he saw her lips twitch.

"Yes, well, you certainly were seen," she commented. "And you're undoubtedly a talented Seeker, Mr. Malfoy, seeing as you managed not only to catch the Snitch, but to hang on to it despite your injuries." Scorpius sucked in his breath.

"As for your question, many first years ride a broom for the first time here at Hogwarts, and we don't want them getting injured while trying out for a game they aren't ready to play." Scorpius thought of the Muggle-borns and Half-Bloods, and nodded. "That makes sense, Ma'am; but with all due respect, I think there should still be some way to let the first years who have experience try out."

There was the twitch again that was maybe there, maybe Scorpius' imagination.

"Perhaps you're right, Mr. Malfoy. I don't suppose you have any ideas as to how we could do such a thing in a way that would make it fair to all the students?"

"Easy." He blinked at her. "Have a flying test first. They have to fly at a certain standard in order to try out. That way even the ones who've never been on a broom before Hogwarts but have natural talent, like Al's dad, have a fair chance." He was desperately grateful then for Al's stories about his father – all of which had been shared in the interest of convincing Scorpius to go along with Project Make The Quidditch Team In First Year.

The twitch again – Scorpius was sure he saw it this time.

"I like that idea, Mr. Malfoy." She smiled at him. "I shall speak to Madam Hooch about implementing it." Scorpius glowed. He thought that he had just made things better, not just for Al and himself but for all the other first years who would potentially benefit from the new plan.

"Make sure you try out, Mr. Malfoy," she added. "If the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team had his way, Slytherin would have a first year Seeker and a first year Chaser after today's fiasco. However," she added, as Scorpius began to look excited, "I am not inclined to reward rule-breaking behaviour. Thus, I will not allow him to give you the positions based on today's performance."

Scorpius' smile faded.

"You and Mr. Potter will also be serving detentions for the next month."

Scorpius grimaced.

"However, I will still allow you to try out with the other first years, once Madam Hooch has arranged a tryout schedule." Scorpius' heart soared.

"Thank you, Ma'am!"

The headmistress smiled at him indulgently. "Try to stay out of trouble in the future, Mr. Malfoy."


	4. Chapter 4 - Bleeding Out

**Chapter Four:** Bleeding Out

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but the clothes on my back.

**Warning: **This chapter contains slash. I was a little more graphic than I had intended to be, but it's not as extreme as a lot of others I've read.

**Author's Notes: **Annabel, I'm glad you're enjoying it. Thanks for the review! Reviews tell me what I'm doing right or wrong and what to change to make this story better!

* * *

_So I bare my skin_

_And I count my sins_

_And I close my eyes_

_And I take it in_

_And I'm bleeding out_

_I'm bleeding out for you_

_For you_

Bleeding Out – Imagine Dragons

* * *

Draco Malfoy was on cloud nine.

After getting out of the infirmary, he had felt uncertain, wondering if Potter kissing him back had been all in his head, and if he should pretend not to remember anything after he'd drank the potion. He needn't have worried.

The next time he saw Potter, the other boy started, and blushed, and looked away from him. It was so un-Potter-like that Draco was certain he'd wrecked everything – until Potter took him aside and broached the subject with him. "Malfoy, what do you remember about the other day, in the hospital wing?"

"Well," Draco had hedged. "I remember you taking me there, and drinking a potion that really knocked me for a loop."

"That's it?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." Potter looked so disappointed that hope flared to life inside Draco's chest, and made him bold.

"I might have, you know, kissed you." His face flamed and he waited on edge to hear what Potter thought of it.

"Was it just the potion affecting your mind, or did you really want to kiss me?"

Draco hesitated. He had a chance to back out, here. A chance to cover himself and avoid any potential backlash from his mistake. But he had tasted Potter's tongue now, and he wanted more. It made him brave. _How Gryffindor of me,_ he thought wryly. "I really wanted to," he said softly. "I have for years."

Potter's face broke out in a grin. Something inside Draco soared when he saw that. And then Potter was snogging him – him! Potter! Was snogging! Him! Draco's thoughts were a trifle incoherent at that point.

Their tongues danced and their arms twined around one another and Potter was pushing him up against the wall and Draco wanted to cry from the joy of it.

They used to meet to talk, but now they would meet to talk and to snog, and Potter would hold his hand while they talked and run his fingers over the backs of Draco's hands and the insides of his wrists, and Potter would smile at him, this sweet, sweet, tender smile that made Draco see stars.

Eventually they progressed beyond the snogging to brief handjobs, gasping against each other and leaning on each other to support their weight as they rode out the aftershocks of orgasm. They carried on like this for quite a while, meeting in empty classrooms or in the Room of Requirement – Draco had thought he'd never want to go back there, but discovered it to be very handy in the months after their physical relationship began to progress.

It conjured up a bed for them on one memorable occasion, a gorgeous sleigh king sized sleigh bed sprinkled with cream and brown throw pillows. The two boys tangled themselves up in the sheets and ground against each other, rutting against each other and cursing and gasping until they came shuddering in each other's arms.

If their physical relationship was intense and passionate, their emotional connection was deep and pure. They talked together about everything; about their lives and their hopes and dreams. They spoke about ideals, and gave each other's opinions respect and weight, even when they disagreed. Sometimes they fought; throwing barbed insults back and forth in fits of rage. But always; always they made up in a spectacular fashion and sometimes Draco wondered if they fought only because it made things that much more intense between them afterwards. Certainly, one thing their relationship was not lacking was passion.

They talked about their pasts and Draco wanted to kill the Dursleys and Potter had to talk him out of it. He warned Draco that if he couldn't leave it alone he wouldn't confide in him again, and their talks meant too much to Draco to risk losing them. But he still entertained daydreams about the hexes he would cast on the Dursleys if Potter ever gave him the chance.

Then Christmas holidays were upon them and they were fighting, because Draco wanted Potter to come with him to Malfoy Manor and Potter had agreed to go home with the Weasels. It bothered Draco, he was beginning to realize, that their relationship was kept a secret from even Potter's closest friends. He also disliked how much of Potter's time was spent with them, rather than with himself.

He was sulking and Potter began stroking his hair, speaking in his low, soothing voice; like one would to an injured bird, so as not to frighten it while trying to aid it. He was stubbornly ignoring Potter, and heard the other boy sigh.

"Malfoy, I'm planning to tell them about us over the break. It'll give them a chance to get used to the idea while you're out of reach from where Ron could hex you."

Draco hesitated. "You mean it?"

"It's time they knew. And I hate having to divide my time between them and you. This way they'll understand that for me, having you around is non-negotiable and they might be willing to give you a chance once they realise I'm serious."

Draco rather liked the thought of that. "You promise?"

"Promise." Potter sighed again. "I also had an idea about how we can spend part of the break together, but you're going to have to stop sulking before I tell you anymore. "

Draco perked up. "What is it?"

"Do you have to go home right away when the break starts?"

Draco shook his head, slowly. "No, I suppose not. Why?"

"I've already told them that I want to take a few days for myself before joining them at the Burrow, and I'm going to stay at Hogwarts for the time being. If you can stay a little into the break, you'll have my undivided attention for those few days." Potter was smiling, looking smug.

Draco turned and kissed him, hard, and their teeth clacked. Potter chuckled. "Thought you'd like that," he murmured, while leaning forward and kissing Draco back. The kiss deepened, and they forgot about anything else for quite some time.

Draco owled his mother that evening about staying a few days into the break.

When the break arrived, Hogwarts was nearly empty, as almost every other student there had gone home. Draco loved walking hand in hand through the corridors with Potter, and not having to worry about other students seeing them or what anyone would think. However, they spent most of their time holed up in the Room of Requirement.

It was during one particularly heated make-out session that Draco decided he was ready to take things to the next level. "Potter," he gasped, as Potter wriggled against him and sent shivers down his spine. "I want you. I want… I want you inside me."

Potter went very still and was silent for a moment. "Malfoy…" he hesitated. "Are you sure?" He pulled back and looked Draco in the eyes.

Draco nodded, staring into a sea of green. "I want you," he whispered. Potter kissed him, hard, scoring the inside of Draco's mouth with his tongue. Draco moaned and bucked unconsciously. Then Potter set to work undressing him, fumbling with his buttons, clumsier than usual, and Draco realised his hands were shaking.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "Do you…" He licked his lips. "Do you want this, Potter?"

Potter locked eyes with him again. "I want you," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm just… Merlin, Malfoy, what if I hurt you?"

Draco smiled and shook his head. "You won't. I trust you." And they kissed again for a few minutes more, then returned to undressing one another. Soon they were a naked tangle of bodies writhing in the sheets, kissing frantically. Suddenly Potter pulled away again, looking stricken. "What are we going to use for –"

Draco put a finger to his lips. "Room of Requirement, remember? Try the bedside table."

Potter did, and found lube. He was blushing, fumbling, shy. Draco found it adorable.

Potter prepared him as best he could, but it still hurt when he slid inside, even though he moved slowly and carefully. Draco had been expecting it to hurt, but not that much. He bit down and wouldn't let himself cry out, though – he didn't want Potter to lose his confidence. As Potter began to move, the pain began to give way to pleasure, and soon Draco was crying out for a very different reason.

It was like nothing either boy had ever experienced before, and the end when it came was earth-shattering for them both. Potter slumped across Draco, too spent to even manage a cleaning charm. He trailed soft kisses across Draco's chest, and Draco played with a lock of his hair.

"I love you, Draco," Potter whispered, saying the words and using Draco's given name both for the first time. Tears pricked at Draco's eyes. "I love you, too," he whispered back. "Harry."

They fell asleep tangled together, kissing and nuzzling one another gently. Draco looked at Potter – Harry – and felt a surge of ownership course through him. _He's mine,_ he thought, savagely. _No one can ever take him away from me. Nothing can ever undo this, undo us._

He had no idea how wrong he could be.

* * *

Harry was a mess. He'd had to break the news of Ginny's death to his daughter, and watch her deal with the consequences of seeing her mother die. He'd had to watch the Weasleys all deal with the grief in their own ways, breaking the news to them himself. He'd had to compose owls to send to Hogwarts alerting Headmistress McGonagall to what had happened and requesting permission to take the boys out of school for the funeral. At least he wasn't the one who would have to break the news to the boys.

He felt relief over that and guilt over his relief. He was sure the boys would rather have heard it from him than from one of their professors, but since it couldn't be helped he was grateful not to be burdened with that task as well as all the others he was juggling.

He struggled to make funeral arrangements while drowning in grief. He struggled to be there for his daughter, but he didn't know how when he couldn't even be there for himself. He struggled to be there for his best friend and his surrogate family, while they struggled with the loss of their sister, daughter, and aunt. He was in over his head, and he couldn't swim.

An owl arrived; the millionth one today and Harry was tempted to hex the poor thing rather than taking the letter, but he stayed his wand and opened what was undoubtedly another missive from one of his or Ginny's fans offering condolences. He was trying to work out funeral arrangements while Lily was at Ron and Hermione's, and he didn't need the distraction.

"No reply," he informed the bird, but it affected not to hear him and he scowled. Weary, he tore open the parchment and began to read. His eyes widened.

_Potter,_

_I know a thing or two about losing a wife, so if you ever need someone to listen to you, without making demands on you or having their own grief to burden you or prevent them from being there for you, I want you to know that I'm here, and I care. Very much, as it happens._

_Firecall or owl me anytime, and I'll come by. One thing I have an overabundance of these days is time._

_Draco Malfoy_

He remembered how invaluable Malfoy had been at the pitch, and at the hospital. He closed his eyes against the storm that threatened to break, then scrambled for parchment. He ignored the voice screaming in his head that Malfoy was a git and hated him and always treated him like scum, and remembered how warm Malfoy's shoulder had been, how tenderly he'd been held by him.

_Malfoy,_

_You have no idea how much the offer means to me. I'm drowning._

_When are you free?_

_Potter_

He attached the missive to the bird's leg, and she flew away. He tried to go back to focusing on the funeral arrangements, as he had been before the owl, but his concentration was broken by the eagerness to hear back from Malfoy. He didn't really expect to hear back right away, so it came as a surprise to him when the owl returned within an hour, bearing another letter.

_Potter,_

_Like I told you; I have an overabundance of time, and I care enough to want to donate it to helping you._

_I'm free anytime. Right now, as a fact._

_Just so you know, this offer is not simply one-time only. I can be on hand as often as you need me._

_Malfoy_

Harry closed his eyes and thanked Merlin for small favours. He scribbled out a quick reply.

_Malfoy,_

_Thank you._

_I'll drop the wards._

_Potter_

He dropped the wards, and waited. He didn't have to wait long. Twenty minutes after he sent the owl, there was a rap on the front door. He practically fell over himself in his eagerness to get to the door, opened it, and there stood Malfoy.

"Potter," he drawled, but there was nothing mocking in his tone. "What do you need?"

"Malfoy," he managed, and the dam broke. He sank to his knees, sobbing. Malfoy was down beside him in a heartbeat, his arms around him, crooning softly, no words, just soft, comforting sounds that somehow were better than words would have been, because words always rang hollow.

Malfoy rocked with him, gently back and forth while he sobbed. For some time they stayed that way, and he allowed himself to grieve as he hadn't since the day Ginny died. After a while he calmed, and pulled back.

Malfoy said nothing, didn't ask if he was alright, didn't offer platitudes, simply helped him rise to his feet and brushed his robes off.

"What do you need?" he asked again, and this time Potter considered.

"I…" he stopped, at a loss for words. "I don't know."

"Do you want to talk?"

Harry nodded, slowly. "Not here." He gestured to the open doorway, and Malfoy smirked. He closed the door and led the way back into the sitting room.

Malfoy followed him in, glancing around as he did. It was a nice house, cozy yet big enough for a family of five. The drawing room was done in a shade of dusty rose, with comfortable chairs and a sofa scattered about, and wizarding photos of the family and extended family – the Weasleys and someone Malfoy hopefully recognized as his cousin Teddy Lupin – were hanging on the walls and on the mantelpiece.

Harry collapsed into a cream coloured papasan chair in the far corner of the room. Curled into it. He gestured at the rest of the room expansively. "Make yourself at home, Malfoy."

Malfoy seated himself across from Harry and proceeded to sit leaning forward with his arms propped up on his knees and his head in his hands, staring with an intense expression that made Harry vaguely uncomfortable. It was not that he minded Malfoy staring, as he normally would mind anyone staring at him. It was that Malfoy's staring somehow made him feel looked after and he wasn't quite certain why.

He cleared his throat.

"Why do you feel you're drowning, Potter?" Malfoy's voice was soft and so… so _reassuring_ that Harry blinked. He drew in a shaky breath.

"I just… I have to be strong for so many people right now; they're all grieving and doing their part, but I feel like if I give in to my grief, I'll be letting them down, or that they won't be able to take it, and I just can't do that to them. Lily needs me constantly and I have to stay strong for her, and the boys will be here this evening and I'll have to be strong for them, and I just want, I want…"

"Someone who can be strong for you?" prompted Malfoy, eyes a sympathetic dark grey with fathomless depths.

Harry nodded jerkily. "It feels wrong to say it," he whispered.

"You always did have that hero complex. Think you have to do everything yourself, that you have to be strong and you can't let anybody else help you or you'll ruin their lives. Those damn relatives of yours really did a number on your self-esteem, didn't they, Potter? Everything from making you afraid of being locked up and giving you a healthy dislike of small, dark spaces to thinking you weren't worth as much as other people."

Harry started. "How did you…?"

Malfoy waved a lazy hand at him. "You told me about the abuse once. In eighth year."

"Oh." Harry digested this in silence. He didn't remember telling anybody any of the details. He wondered how much he'd told Malfoy, and what had prompted him to do so. He hadn't even shared the details with Ginny. Then again, she'd never asked.

Thinking of Ginny caused the emotions he'd been bottling to bubble to the surface once more and he heaved a couple of times. Malfoy sat in silence, waiting for him to speak again.

"It's not just the grief," he managed, once the fit had passed. "I'm so, so…"

"Angry?"

"Yes!" Harry exploded. "It was just so senseless! So damn meaningless and over something as trivial as a game." His hands were shaking, and he drove his nails into his palms. Malfoy was up in a flash, prying his hands open, massaging the skin where he'd scored angry red marks into it. "I know, Potter," he said simply. "I know. You have every right to be angry."

The dam broke again, and Harry began to sob again, roughly this time, angrily. He was vaguely aware of beating his fists against Malfoy's shoulders while the man held him as he rode out the flood of emotions that were pouring through him. As it finally subsided, he tried to pull back in shame, but Malfoy held him firmly in place and rubbed the hollow of his back, saying, "Let it out, Potter. Let it all out," in a low voice. He broke down and cried some more, feeling utterly helpless against the onslaught of his emotions. He clung to Malfoy like a shipwrecked sailor might cling to a piece of driftwood.

As he calmed down, Malfoy released him. He sniffled, and Malfoy handed him a handkerchief. He blew.

"What else are you feeling, Potter?" Malfoy's eyes were so clear and penetrating. So grey. Harry was lost in his eyes for a moment, then started. He wondered where that had come from.

"Guilt," he whispered, looking down as if ashamed to admit it aloud. "I feel so… responsible. Like I should have known. I should have been able to do something. I feel," His eyes stayed downcast, "Like it should have been me."

Malfoy grabbed his chin and jerked it upright, forcing Harry to look into his eyes. "Never think that," he whispered. "You're too precious to the rest of us for you to be able to think that way. Understand?"

Harry didn't, not really, but he nodded. Malfoy's gaze was powerful. Overwhelming, hard as granite. It seemed to see right into him and through him. His eyes turned soft.

"Guilt is a normal reaction, Potter." He looked away then, and Harry was momentarily saddened by the loss of those stormy eyes gazing into his own. It made his grief seem far away and remote when Malfoy looked at him like that. "I would know all about guilt," Malfoy added, almost as if to himself, with a bitter laugh.

Harry was reminded of Malfoy's wife and had to ask. "Will you tell me about her?"

Malfoy started. "Astoria?"

Harry nodded.

Malfoy rubbed his jaw for a few moments, then stood up, abruptly. Harry was momentarily worried that Malfoy was going to leave, but the man simply began to pace.

"She was beautiful." It was a statement, nothing sentimental in it. "She was sweet, kind, and gentle; the perfect wife." Malfoy raked his fingers through his hair and managed to ruin what was left of his dignified appearance after having had Harry sobbing all over the front of his robes. "But I…"

"You didn't love her." It was a statement, not a question.

"I _cared_ for her. I tried to be a good husband to her, and I did love her in a platonic sort of way. But I'm gay." Harry stared. That had been a revelation he wasn't expecting. "I thought she understood. Ours was a political marriage, arranged." Malfoy shook his head, his hair flopping about in disarray. "She didn't. She wanted me to fall in love with her, and when I didn't she fell apart."

His voice was low, his eyes dull. "Scorpius was a new baby, and I was busy working at the ministry, and she told me she wanted to stay with her parents for a little while. I thought she wanted the company and missed her family. Wanted to show off the baby, maybe get some rest." He sighed. "She wanted me to stop her, to ask her not to leave. I had no idea. She was depressed, I understood that, but I thought spending time with her family would be good for her." The rueful look on his face spoke volumes, and he was silent for a few minutes.

"What happened to her?" Harry was quiet, eyes searching the other man's face.

"The Greengrass property is located near the sea," murmured Malfoy. "If you go far back enough you reach a rocky cliff that overlooks the sea." He paused again. "She threw herself off the edge. No one could get to her in time to levitate her away from the rocks."

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, realising the enormity of the guilt the other man must feel. He hesitated. "It wasn't your fault, Malfoy."

Malfoy gave him a wan smile that bespoke his own opinion on the matter, but said nothing. "It's been a long time," he said lightly. "You can look at my story, and say that it's not my fault, yet you feel responsible for your wife's death. And I was far more culpable in my wife's death than you were in yours." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but fell silent. Malfoy had a point, he thought.

"But you see, Potter," Malfoy continued. "Grief doesn't play by the rules. I know all about grief, and guilt, and anger. I buried my spouse, and I had to learn to live in the aftermath. My mother was my anchor; I can be yours. If you want."

He reached out and Harry took his proffered hand. "Just let me know when you need to talk. And I promise I won't ramble on about myself in the future." He smirked, and Harry smiled back.

"You took my mind off of myself for a few moments," he said quietly. "Thank you."

"Do you still need to talk?"

Harry hesitated. "I think I'm alright for today. Thanks, Malfoy."

Malfoy nodded, and paused by a mirror hanging on the wall to frown and smooth his hair. Harry hid a smile as the other man fussed over his appearance. Some things, Harry decided, never changed. Malfoy might not be an evil git after all, but he was still vain.

He said as much, and Malfoy snorted. "You said the same thing to me back in eighth year," he sneered. "For the same damn reason."

Harry laughed, and his face took on a wistful expression. "How close were we in eighth year, Malfoy?"

A shadow passed over Malfoy's face. "Really close, Potter," he said at last. "We were really close."

Harry sighed. "I wish I could remember. At least, I wish we had become friends again after… you know. After it happened."

Malfoy gave him a look of pain, and he didn't understand it. "I tried," he said softly. "You shut me out."

Harry blinked. "I'm sorry, Malfoy," he said, honesty pouring through him. "I don't remember. My memory was…"

"I know." Malfoy nodded. "But I remember everything." He turned and walked away, opening the front door and stepping outside. He gave Harry a sad little nod, then Apperated away.

Harry was left wondering why Malfoy looked so broken when he left, and decided uneasily that he must have been a right git himself towards Malfoy when Malfoy had made overtures of friendship towards him. If they had been as close as Malfoy said, he must have genuinely hurt the other boy.

Not for the first time, he cursed the accident that had taken two years of his memory and left him with difficulty forming short term memories for months afterwards.

He wondered how much he had lost.


	5. Chapter 5 - I Will Be Your Scarecrow

**Chapter Five:** I Will Be Your Scarecrow

**Disclaimer:** We all know I'm no JKR. Ditto to Drarry being canon. Clearly, I own nothing.

**Warnings:** Language, slash, sex slightly more graphic in this chapter than in previous.

**A/N: **Thanks for reviewing, following, or favoriting! Reviews make me happy, and keep me writing. I don't intend to do four chapters in three days again, but I will write more frequently when I get reviews.

* * *

_When the hour is nigh_  
_And hopelessness is sinking in_  
_And the wolves all cry_  
_To fill the night with hollering_  
_When your eyes are red_  
_And emptiness is all you know_  
_With the darkness fed_  
_I will be your scarecrow_

Bleeding Out – Imagine Dragons

* * *

Over the next few months Draco found himself inexorably becoming a steady part of Potter's life. While complete breakdowns such as the one he'd had at the start of their strange new friendship had happened on occasion, with Potter owling him when he couldn't take anymore and needed an outlet, he would firecall Draco on a nightly basis, just to talk. "Talking to you just comes naturally," he observed once. Draco didn't know what to say in reply. It was good to know that Potter wasn't so fragile he'd break if Draco got a little snarky.

Draco found himself struggling at times to be civil to Potter, snapping at him or acting like a sarcastic git the way he had trained himself to do, but Potter didn't seem to mind. On the contrary, he seemed to find it amusing when Draco would act like an ass. He called Potter on it, but Potter just replied, "It's cause now I know you're really not such a complete and utter twat, it's funny when I see you acting like one."

The friendship between their sons was another point on which they were inexplicably bound. They argued back and forth about making arrangements for Christmas as the holidays drew near; both boys wanted to see each other during the break and neither parent was eager to give up the time with their sons. Al had lost his fire to try out for the Quidditch team after his mom's accident, and Scorpius had decided to forgo tryouts in support of him. Draco was rather proud of the way his son rallied to the support of his friend.

Draco took to popping in to visit when he was bored, which was often. He helped Potter out with everything from funeral arrangements to holding off well-meaning fans, from helping with Lily to simply listening while Potter ranted. Potter had been ordered to take time off by the head of the Auror Department – apparently he was rubbish at taking leave, and had plenty of time on saved up that the head decided would be best used now. Potter had ranted and raved about that one for a while, too, before accepting it with bad grace and using the time to devote to Lily and the Weasleys as much as possible.

It was during mid-December when Draco had come over to hammer down the details of what they would be doing with their boys over the holidays that Potter made some rather startling confessions. Draco sipped his firewhiskey, leaning against the Manor's central mantelpiece. He needed to think about everything he'd heard today.

It had started off innocently enough.

"The holidays are going to be so hard with her gone."

Draco stopped. He had been going to make another suggestion about the boys, but if Potter needed to vent, he'd be true to his word and listen. "They will," he answered honestly. He leaned back, his hair brushing against the evergreen boughs that decorated the sitting room walls. He frowned and leaned forwards again, fixing his hair with his palms.

"I don't know what to do. I don't know how to keep it okay, for the kids. And Molly and Arthur, George and Ron and Hermione, Percy and Charlie and Bill… they're going to have such a hard time, and there's nothing I can do. I feel so damn helpless."

"You're worrying about everybody else again."

"I have to!" Potter shot him a savage look, and Draco blinked. Potter was silent for a few minutes. "At the very least I have to worry about my kids, and how to give them a happy Christmas when their mom's not here. For once I'm glad we stopped at three kids," he said, sighing.

Draco stared. "You wanted more?" A note of incredulity crept into his voice.

Potter blinked at him. "Well, Ginny's one of seven kids, and I've always wanted a big, happy family, so yeah. I wanted more. The more the merrier, right?"

Draco blinked and shook his head. He thought of the three Potter children, one red head full of curls, one dark bird's nest just like the father's, and one that was a red-brown wavy mixture of the two, and tried to picture more of them. Potter with more of them. He found to his discomfort that he could, quite easily. "So why didn't you?" he ventured?

Potter sighed. "We didn't… Ginny and I didn't exactly get on, a lot of the time."

"Oh?" Draco's brows rose. He stared at Potter. He'd assumed Potter's marriage was perfect, just like he'd once assumed Potter led a charmed life and got everything he wanted for his fame. Apparently he was as wrong now as he had been back then.

Potter shifted uneasily. "Ginny wanted a divorce," he blurted.

Draco stared in earnest, now. "And you didn't," he guessed.

Potter sighed. "Of course not, the kids-"

"Sod the kids. That has nothing to do with them." Draco felt strange, a mixture of excitement – where had that come from? – and frustration that all along he'd been coddling someone who wasn't actually as heartbroken as he seemed. "If your marriage isn't working it isn't the kids' fault and you can't make it about them."

Potter snorted. "If I didn't believe that the kids deserve to have both of their parents _together_, like a family, I wouldn't have married Gin in the first place." He looked embarrassed at the admission, cheeks tinged with something like shame.

"Whatever happened to the love of your life, the epic romance to end epic romances?" Draco's voie was laced with sarcasm.

"I never said that," Potter hedged. "That was the Prophet, not me." Draco stared him down. He sighed again. "Gin and I were off and on for years. We would work so well as friends I would keep thinking that maybe we could work as, well, as more. Not to mention I desperately wanted it to work out between us for the sake of becoming a part of the Weasley family." He laughed bitterly. "I never had a family of my own, and they were the first family I ever felt like I was part of. I wanted to be part of it in truth."

Draco closed his eyes. A memory played against the backs of his lids, and he knew without preamble that it would haunt his dreams that night. He merely nodded outwardly, not letting Potter see what the gesture cost him.

"The bottom line is that we had no passion," Potter said. "It made things… difficult." He ran a hand through his already disorganized mop of hair. "Gin got pregnant. I did the right thing." There was a hint of defiance in his voice, as if daring Draco to tell him he hadn't.

Draco felt anger course through him. He'd given up on his own happiness, only to find out that Harry wasn't all that happy after all. He bit his anger back, reminded himself that it wasn't like he'd had a _choice_ about giving up his happiness, and felt bitterness flood him. He drew a shaking breath. "So," he managed. "No passion." His voice was flat.

"I mean," Potter's voice trembled a little. "I don't know how I know that, exactly. It's not like I had a wealth of experience outside Ginny, and I'm sure if I'd found passion with someone else I wouldn't have wanted to let it go. But it always felt like we were missing something. Some fire." He looked miserably into his hands, twisting in his lap. "I loved her, I really did… and what we had was nice. It really was. It's just that that was all it was."

"And she wanted a divorce," Draco's voice still came out flat.

"It wasn't just that," admitted Harry. "There was the whole issue of my sexuality." Draco stared again, wondering if the man with three children was going to admit to being gay.

"I don't know that I could say I'm gay, as I've had three children and all, but I'm definitely bisexual, at least," Harry explained. "And Ginny didn't like that. No matter that I swore I'd never step out on her, from the time she found out she was constantly insecure about it. Wanted me to agree to stop being bi as "part of making our marriage work", and couldn't accept that it doesn't work like that."

Draco nodded, faintly. He'd always suspected that Harry's sexuality was more open than his own; this just confirmed it. "Why'd she marry you if she didn't like it?" he asked.

"Well, she didn't know at first," admitted Harry. "_I_ didn't know at first." He shifted in his seat. "Gin and I split up for a little while, and during that time, I went to a club in muggle London and got completely smashed. Ended up going home with a bloke."

A tendril of jealousy wormed its way into Draco's chest, where it unfolded itself and snaked around his heart.

"It was bloody brilliant," added Harry, as an after-thought, and the tendril squeezed.

"I see," Draco said, teeth clenching.

He'd managed to take his leave shortly thereafter without alerting Potter to his discomfort – any prickliness Potter noticed could be passed off as Draco being Draco. He arrived at home and promptly poured himself a glass of firewhiskey and downed it in one go. He poured another, to nurse while brooding.

"Bloody hell," he murmured, and tossed it back in one go. He had other things to think about, like his father's upcoming parole hearing. _Twenty years._ He wondered how much Lucius had changed in those years. He knew his mother was nervous about seeing her husband again. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt.

With a sigh, he downed his glass, and headed back to his study to go over the speech he was writing for the parole board one more time.

* * *

The morning after they made love for the first time Draco woke to a vague awareness of Potter – no, Harry; _his_ Harry, although it was difficult after thinking of him as Potter for so long to suddenly think of him as Harry, however odd that may have seemed to anyone else considering the intimate nature of their relationship – exploring the contours of his body with his mouth. With his tongue, to be specific. Draco was still half asleep, lying on his right side, soaking in the feeling of pleasure as Harry traced his way down his lightly muscled chest, over his abs, and – oh, Merlin did that feel good! – across his left hip. He let out an audible moan and Harry chuckled.

"Morning, love," he whispered, placing soft kisses on the flat of Draco's stomach.

"Morning, Po- Harry," Draco replied, flushing at the slip of his tongue. Harry just chuckled again, then ducked his head and gave Draco cause to buck suddenly with his latest ministrations.

"_Fuck, _Harry!" He gasped, fisting the sheets as Harry took him in his mouth. His eyes all but rolled back into his head as Harry's head bobbed, his tongue deftly working along his shaft and toying with the head. Harry gave a throaty chuckle, and the vibrations made Draco gasp and shudder.

"_Merlin_, Harry, what are you – oh _gods_, Harry!" Draco became inarticulate, writhing in the sheets as Harry flipped him onto his back, and took the full length of his shaft in his mouth. He moved deftly; inexpertly, yet Draco didn't mind – he'd never felt anything like it. The inexpert way his lover pleasured him reminded him that this was new for them both. He moaned aloud, hips bucking, and let out a few choice curses. Harry laughed again, breathlessly, and kept going.

He quickened his pace, using his hand to pump where his mouth couldn't reach, and tongued Draco's slit. He gently massaged Draco's balls, then moved his fingers down and carefully fingered Draco's opening. Draco bucked and shouted and he was coming and oh gods! – it felt amazing. Harry did his best to swallow and finally Draco was spent, lying there, shuddering in pleasure as the aftershocks of his orgasm rolled through him. Harry rose and kissed him tenderly.

Draco flipped him over, kissing him back fiercely, tasting himself on Harry's tongue. Harry gave a yelp of surprise, but kissed him back with equal fervor. Draco trailed kissed along Harry jaw, then licked a stripe along Harry's collarbone and smiled at the shudder that passed through his lover. He slowly began to work his way down to repay the favour. Harry made little mewling sounds as Draco reached his inner thighs, and Draco laughed himself. Then he set to work proving that he could best Potter in this, at least, if not on the Quidditch pitch.

* * *

Harry sat up in bed abruptly, gasping and panting. He was rock hard and throbbing, aching from the dream he'd just had. It had felt so real, more like a memory than a dream. But that was of course ridiculous. Still, the memory of Dream-Draco's lips on his prick was vivid and oh-so tempting.

He moaned and put his head in his hands. He'd had no interest in sex or masturbation since Ginny died, yet here out of nowhere he was horny and having a sex dream. About _Malfoy_, of all people. Harry blamed it on the conversation they'd had the day before, and resolved never to mention anything even vaguely sexual or having to do with his preferences to Malfoy again. He wasn't ready to be interested in anybody yet and he certainly wasn't going to be interested in Draco Sodding Malfoy, his ex-enemy.

Bloody hell… Where on earth had that come from?

Harry resigned himself to a restless night of trying unsuccessfully to go back to sleep.

* * *

"So I said, 'Only a Malfoy could be this damn gorgeous!'" Malfoy preened as he said the words and Harry snorted and laughed. Malfoy looked affronted and he laughed some more, hoping like hell the flush in his cheeks could be explained away as being caused by the laughter and not because ever since finding out Malfoy was a halfway decent human being he'd been thinking things like "utterly shagable" about Malfoy and how bloody brilliant and grey his eyes were and since when did he even like blokes? Well, he'd always suspected he might like blokes, but never made any attempt to find out; never had any reason to find out, but now Malfoy was shaping up to be his first serious male crush. He wouldn't say he was in love with Malfoy, not as yet, whatever this was it was different from anything he'd ever felt before, but whatever it was, he had it bad.

A few weeks ago he'd come across Malfoy with his shirt off and it had just about done him in; Malfoy had asked, "See something you like, Potter?" and he'd nearly blurted out, "Yes!" He'd only managed to cover by noting the scars from Sectumsempra and apologizing for the incident. Draco had brushed it off and joked about it and he had no idea that the sight of his pale chest and slim hips and long, slender arms had just about driven Harry mental.

He and Malfoy bid each other farewell and hurried on to their respective classes. As he jogged away he forced himself not to think about Malfoy's white neck, or his pale blonde hair gleaming in the sunlight and wondering how it would feel to run his fingers through it.

He mumbled a quick apology to Ron and Hermione as he slid into place next to them in class, and they frowned at him but didn't call him on being late. Professor McGonagall did, unfortunately, and as he was without a good explanation for it he found himself preparing to serve detentions for the duration of the week.

He lived in fear of the day that his secret would be found out; Malfoy would undoubtedly draw back in disgust, and Ron and Hermione would be utterly horrified. He spent a fair amount of time defending Malfoy to them, and they only knew that he and Malfoy were friendly and spoke on occasion. If they knew how often occasion was – which fortunately they did not, seeing as their own new relationship kept them busy enough often enough to give Harry the free time to "accidently" stumble into Malfoy's path on a regular basis with the convenient help of one Marauder's Map – or if they knew that Harry dreamed of and fantasized about and wanked to Malfoy, they would have been beyond shocked. Most likely they would have tried to get him to go and see a mind healer, which Harry sometimes wondered if he shouldn't do anyway.

But the worst part was undoubtedly the idea that Malfoy would be disgusted by him, and pull away. Harry had simply reached the point where he couldn't imagine his life without Malfoy in it.

He was hurrying to his detention that evening when he spotted Malfoy leaning on the pillar, coughing. Ignoring the voice that screamed in his head that he shouldn't be late to detention he stopped to check if Malfoy was okay.

He wasn't.

He'd been beaten; to within an inch of his life it looked like. He was coughing up blood and his face flushed miserably when he saw Harry. "Go away, Potter," he mumbled.

"Malfoy?" he gasped. "What happened?"

"Accident," Malfoy answered, coughing again and looking everywhere but Harry's face.

When Malfoy didn't give him much more to go on he began helping him to the hospital wing, but continued to press to find out who had done this to him.

"Leave it, Potter," Malfoy snapped.

"Like hell," answered Harry shortly. He helped Malfoy get to the hospital wing and sat next to him while Madam Pomfrey gave him a pain potion and a healing potion, and asked him to lie down.

He felt white-hot anger go through him at the realisation that Malfoy had been getting beat up on a regular basis for weeks and Harry had known nothing. Malfoy had hid it and Harry, who prided himself on noticing everything about Malfoy, had noticed nothing.

"Do you need anything, Malfoy?" Harry asked him, worriedly. "Is there anything you want?"

"Yeah Potter, there is," answered Malfoy, and suddenly Malfoy was kissing him, and oh gods Malfoy's lips were as soft and moist as they looked and his tongue slid into Harry's mouth and Harry kissed him back, desperately, hungrily… and Malfoy went limp, sliding back onto the bed, and Harry panicked for a moment before he remembered when Madam Pomfrey had said about the potions making him fall asleep.

He sat there for a moment, grinning like an idiot, and wrapped his arms around himself. Suddenly he remembered McGonagall and his detention and he groaned aloud in frustration. Stooping over Malfoy he whispered, "See you later," and kissed his forehead. He left the hospital wing and caught himself skipping down the corridor towards the Headmistress' office. He managed to reign that in but then he caught himself humming. That, he decided, wasn't so bad.

So he hummed until he reached the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmistress' office, when suddenly it occurred to him that the potions may have had more of an effect on Malfoy than simply making him tired. What if Malfoy hadn't known what he was doing when he kissed Harry? He certainly seemed to know what he was doing, but then maybe he was just a really good kisser or maybe Harry just wanted this so badly that his mind made more of it than there was.

By the time Harry reached McGonagall, he looked sufficiently upset that she accepted his story of helping Malfoy to the hospital wing without question. He discovered that she knew about Malfoy's predicament and felt outraged. "Why aren't you doing anything?" he demanded.

She sighed. "Other than the general announcements I've been making about bullying, there's not much I can do, Mr. Potter." She fixed him with a stare. "Mr. Malfoy refuses to say who his attackers are, or how many there are, or help us in any way. There's only so much we can do without knowing who the perpetrators are."

Harry decided privately that while the teacher's hands were tied, his weren't. The next day he saw Malfoy sitting at his table and managed to catch his eye. He had every intention of approaching him about the bullying, but suddenly the memory of the kiss broke over him and he blushed crimson. He ducked his head and turned around, wondering if Malfoy even remembered and wishing he could be a little bit less of a thirteen year old girl about this. He resolved to catch Malfoy alone at the first opportunity.

He was thwarted, somewhat, by Ginny and her insistence on clinging to him. He had tried to talk to her about moving on but she didn't seem to want to listen and he didn't know how to be firmer with her without being mean.

When he finally managed to disentangle himself and escape, he was disappointed to see that Malfoy was in the dungeons. He started to put the map away, when he noticed Malfoy was on the move, heading out. Grinning, he hurried over to an alcove near the dungeons and waited to intercept Malfoy.

Sure enough, Malfoy padded along the corridor past his hiding place soon enough. "Malfoy!" he hissed, and the other boy jumped, eyes wide and frightened. Probably not the best idea when Malfoy was being attacked on a regular basis, thought Harry ruefully, but Malfoy calmed down and his eyes brightened when he saw who was there.

"Potter!" He slipped into the alcove across from Harry. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" His voice rang with sarcasm, and if that hadn't been Malfoy's normal mode of communication whenever he was feeling scared or nervous or anything at all, really, Harry might have worried more than he already was.

As it was he steeled himself and began to grill Malfoy about the kiss. When Malfoy said that he'd wanted to kiss him for years – years! Harry couldn't understand how anyone could put up with this kind of longing for a few months the way he had, let alone for years – he lost control and began kissing him passionately. Luckily Malfoy was serious about wanting to kiss him and began kissing him back just as passionately.

"Fuck, Potter!" he gasped when they finally came up for air. Harry grinned. "I've been wanting to do that for months," he informed Malfoy. "If I hadn't thought I'd lose your friendship I would have tried it back at the end of the trials." Malfoy gaped at him, lost for words. He took the opportunity to snog Malfoy senseless some more.

He took to watching Malfoy on the Marauder's Map, looking him up to know where he was when he fancied a chat or a snog or both, and waiting for Malfoy to be cornered again. It took a week for it to happen.

He was studying with Ron and Hermione in the Gryffindor common room, and getting bored enough that he decided to surreptitiously check the Map again and he swore. "Bloody fucking _hell_!" Hermione looked scandalized and Ron amused.

"What is it, mate?" Ron looked eager to get away from the study regime Hermione had dragged him into.

"Malfoy," Harry answered, rising and throwing his belongings into his bag before hurrying to the portrait hole.

"Malfoy?" Ron looked baffled. "Sodding Malfoy? What about him?"

"He's about to get beat up again," Harry answered over his shoulder, ignoring all the stares he was getting, seeing in his mind the little dot labeled, "Draco Malfoy" which was being surrounded by a half a dozen other dots and backed into a corner.

He stumbled out of the portrait hole, and began hurrying as fast as he could down the stairs. Fortunately he only needed to go down one flight of stairs before rushing to the other side of the castle. As he hurried he pulled his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag, where he'd taken to keeping it as part of his plan. He pulled it on, and the hood up over his head. Hidden, he rushed on.

He reached an abandoned Arithmancy classroom and with a whispered, "Alohamora!" pushed the door open. The students inside startled, then relaxed as they saw there was evidently no one there.

"Clark, I said shut the door and _lock_ it," a beefy Ravenclaw said in an exasperated tone.

"I _did_," muttered Clark, a blonde, reedy boy with glasses that rivalled Harry's. He turned to go lock the door, playing with his Gryffindor tie, and Harry hit him. He didn't plan to. It just sort of happened. Clark dropped to the ground, and the other boys cried out in fright.

_Here goes nothing,_ thought Harry. Breaking into a run, he headbutted the burly Ravenclaw, shoved another, and tripped a third. Casting a quick _Sonoros_ on himself, he intoned in his deepest voice, "This boy is protected by Hogwarts itself. Leave him be if you value your lives!"

His words echoed around the classroom, and the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor boys began screaming and fleeing.

He chuckled, forgetting he was still under the _Sonoros_ charm, and his disembodied laughter only served to frighten the bullies further. He removed the charm, waited to be sure they had gone, then turned to Malfoy.

He was looking as terrified as the other boys had, and Harry felt a pang go through him. He pulled off his hood, and smiled down at Malfoy. "Hello, Ferret," he smirked.

"_Potter_?!" There was a note of incredulity in Malfoy's voice, and Harry didn't quite blame him.

He peeled off the cloak. "Ta-da!"

Malfoy gaped. "What the –"

"Invisibility Cloak," supplied Harry helpfully.

"I see that," Malfoy managed, weakly. "It explains a few things. How did you know I was here?"

"A magic Map told me," said Harry solemnly. "No, really," he added, when Malfoy looked at him skeptically. He pulled out the Marauder's Map. "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good," he said, tapping the map with his wand. He held it out for Malfoy to examine.

"Hang on… this… but you… how…." The boy sputtered. Harry laughed.

"I've been watching you on here for ages," he confessed. "All those times we conveniently happened to run into each other? Not so convenient." He laughed again at Malfoy's look of indignation, which changed to dawning comprehension.

"But that means that you –"

"Meant what I said about having wanted to kiss you for months," agreed Harry serenely. He quite enjoyed the flush that spread over Malfoy's face and pale neck. "And it gave me the perfect method of helping you out with your little bullying problem."

He held out his hand, helping Malfoy to his feet. Malfoy swatted his hand away and glared at him.

"So you just had to come rescue me, didn't you, Potter?" Malfoy looked murderous. "Saint Potter, at it again!"

"Gods, Malfoy, I did it in a way that no one would know you had help. Maybe now those pricks will leave you alone! Is it really too much to expect a 'Thank you' for that?" Harry was slightly offended.

Malfoy sulked. "I didn't ask for your help, Potter. I didn't need you to come saving me _again_."

Harry blinked. "You know what Malfoy? You're too proud for your own good." Malfoy opened his mouth but Harry cut him off. "Oh, shut it, you great prat." He pulled Malfoy forwards and kissed him sharply.

Malfoy gasped into his mouth and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Objections forgotten, Malfoy kissed him back.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes and lay there, blinking in the sunlight. Twice in one night he'd dreamed of Malfoy; twice in one night his dreams felt like memories and provided him with a tantalizing story of his eighth year at Hogwarts.

But they were lies.

Someone would have told him if he and Malfoy had been dating during his eighth year at Hogwarts. At the very least Malfoy would have. The fact that he hadn't was telling. Harry couldn't think of a single good reason for him not to have done.

But then, if he knew all the reasons, he wouldn't have this problem in the first place.

"Daddy?"

Harry shook his head, abruptly pulling out of his reverie. "Hey Pumpkin," he said softly, sitting up. "Good morning." He opened his arms and Lily came scurrying forwards into his room to hug him.

He exhaled softly against her hair. "How are you today?"

"Okay," she shrugged at him, and his heart constricted in his chest.

"How about I make us some pancakes for breakfast?"

She smiled, and he kissed her forehead. This was all that mattered. Not his long-lost memories, and certainly not some ridiculous dreams about Draco Malfoy.

* * *

**A/N: **So I got this idea from someone else, (who got it from someone else) and I'm going to include a question with each chapter, to be answered by you, and I'll give you my answer as well.

What's your favourite Drarry story? Why? Feel free to include a link if you have one handy, or not if you don't... I'm not above searching for a title myself.

My favourite would have to be "Ain't No Friend Of Mine" by Letterd. It's so funny; I laughed so hard I cried repeatedly while reading this. It also has the best Draco I've ever read. hd-inspired dot livejournal dot com / 61407 dot ht ml

And of course, there's the Sacrifices Arc, but that's in a whole different league. It's a complete retelling of the entire series, with Slytherin!Harry that lasts over 3.7 million words long.


	6. Chapter 6 - Apocalypse Brewing

**Chapter Six:** Apocalypse Brewing

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. J.K. Rowling owns everything. Even the clothes on my back are on loan.

**Warning: **Language.

**A/N: **Thank you so much for the reviews, follows, and favourites! If you review, you make me happy, and make me want to write more, more often.

* * *

_I'm waking up to ash and dust_  
_I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust_  
_I'm breathing in the chemicals_

_I'm breaking in, shaping up, then checking out on the prison bus_  
_This is it, the apocalypse_

Radioactive – Imagine Dragons

* * *

Minerva McGonagall heaved a sigh and rubbed her hands over her eyes. Merlin, but she was tired. She was looking forward to relaxing under the less heavy workload offered by the Christmas holidays. Minerva was keenly aware that she was not as young as she once was.

She thought of her students, going home for the holidays, and smiled. In particular the Potter children caught in her mind, and her smile faltered. Their holidays would be difficult. The loss of their mother earlier in the school year had been utterly senseless. The poor boys had been devastated, and had gone home for a period of a week for their mother's funeral and to allow them a little time to grieve.

The boys had been despondent for weeks, taking little pleasure in the things they previously enjoyed. While they had recovered from their grief, it had taken time, and attention from their Heads of Houses to help them along that road. She could only imagine how difficult it had been for the boys to be away from their father and younger sister during the last few months.

James had given up his position as Gryffindor Keeper, and Albus had chosen not to try out for Quidditch with the other first years. Scorpius Malfoy, whose idea had allowed first years to try out, chose to sit out the try outs with his friend. She chuckled at the memory of the incredible display they had put on to try to win a place on the Quidditch team – any place.

Minerva allowed herself a small smile at the thought of Scorpius Malfoy and Albus Potter. It really was a wonder how close the two became so quickly, but Scorpius had been invaluable for Al. She credited herself with the boys' friendship; she had assigned them detention together during their first week at Hogwarts, and that was the start of things.

Albus had wanted to be a Gryffindor, like his brother, and the rest of his family. Despite being sorted Slytherin, he stole a Gryffindor tie and joined the Gryffindor first years on their way to the tower, and proceeded to bunk down in the Gryffindor dormitories. He went with the Gryffindors to classes, sat at the Gryffindor meal table, and had everyone in Gryffindor – including his Head of House, Professor Neville Longbottom – convinced he was a latecomer who had been sorted Gryffindor.

It had taken Minerva three days and no small headaches to figure out why one of her Slytherins had disappeared and to find out that there was a surplus Gryffindor. Albus could be very clever and unobtrusive when he wanted to be.

She had angrily assigned him detention with Filch, along with Scorpius Malfoy, who had spent the last three evenings hiding just outside an alcove commonly used by older students for trysts; whenever a couple tried to use the alcove he would hex them and leave them both covered in puss-leaking boils and confused as to the identity of their attacker. It took McGonagall three evenings to find the culprit, as he had found himself a very clever hiding place. Not that McGonagall didn't appreciate that someone was breaking up illicit trysts in the castle, but the method left much to be desired. Scorpius reassured her that the puss-leaking boils hex was the only one he knew.

"My dad wanted me to be able to defend myself if I got bullied," he explained.

McGonagall thought the irony was a little much.

Her thoughts drifted to her other students, and with a sigh she picked up her quill and resumed writing. She had to finish preparing for the students who would be leaving for the holidays, and confirm which students would be staying.

* * *

"Lily, come _on_!"

Harry was in a hurry to finish getting ready to go pick up the boys when he heard the Floo. He groaned. Who on earth was bothering him now?

He glanced into the sitting room hearth, only to be shocked by the sight of Draco Malfoy, calling his name urgently.

"Potter! Potter, are you there? Please be there, damnit, please!"

"Malfoy?" Harry stepped into view. "What's going on?"

"My mother fell down the stairs. I don't know enough about healing spells to treat her injuries. I have to take her to St. Mungo's. But Scorpius is going to be waiting at the station for me and – "

"I'll pick him up," Harry immediately knew what the other man wanted. "No problem. I hope your mother is okay."

"She'll be fine once she sees a healer," Draco said, tight lipped. "Thanks Potter. I wouldn't ask unless –"

"It's fine," Harry tells him, then on impulse, "And call me Harry."

The expression on Malfoy's face was curious. He replied, even more tight-lipped, if possible, "You've been Potter for decades, a little hard to change my way of thinking of you after so long."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, feeling a strange sense of loss overtake him. "Yeah, it was a dumb idea."

"You're full of those, aren't you?" asked Malfoy in a drawl, and Harry laughed. It sounded hollow.

"Git," he tossed back without heat, and Malfoy snorted.

"What are you, twelve?"

"Eternally," Harry said solemnly, and then it was Malfoy's turn to laugh.

"I have to go, Potter," he said, almost apologetic but not quite – Malfoy could never manage apologetic, Harry thought.

"See ya. I'll keep Scorpius here as long as you need me to. Plenty of room here at Grimmauld Place."

The Floo hissed once and Malfoy was gone. Harry set about finding Lily and hauling her out.

* * *

At platform 9 and ¾'s, Harry's worried that he won't be able to find Scorpius, since the boy doesn't know to look for him. He needn't have worried. Scorpius and Al are thick as thieves, and were standing together whispering furiously when he spotted them.

"Albus! Scorpius!" he called, gesturing for them to come over and join him, James and Lily. Beside him, he felt Ron give a start at the names he called.

"Did I just hear you calling Scorpius Malfoy?" He demanded.

"Yeah, he's Al's friend," Harry said, a trifle irritably. "His dad Floo'd me and asked me to pick him up since apparently Narcissa had a fall down the stairs this morning and needed to see a healer."

Ron opened his mouth the retort but didn't get the chance.

"Dad!" Al threw his arms around Harry, who pulled him in to a tight hug. He moved on, greeting Lily and his Aunts, Uncles, and younger cousins. He began fending off questions about being sorted Slytherin and assuring Hugo that no, they did not secretly take a pledge of evil in the dungeons.

"Hello, Mr. Harry Potter, sir," Said Scorpius is an unconscious parody of Dobby that made Harry's heart ache.

"No need for the 'sir', Scorpius," he laughed, stifling the sudden urge to ruffle the boy's hair. He didn't know how Scorpius would take to having his hair ruffled. Goodness knew Malfoy would have had a conniption when he was in school – or even now, for that matter. Harry privately resolved to ruffle Malfoy's hair at the earliest opportunity, just to hear him scream like a girl. He grinned.

"Were you really the youngest seeker in a century, sir?" Scorpius blurted, eyes trained on Harry in a kind of worshipful hopefulness.

Harry laughed. "I was," he admitted. "Did your dad tell you that?" He felt secretly pleased about the idea.

"No, Al did. We were going to try out for the Quidditch team, and I wanted to be Seeker but…" He fell silent, with a pointed glance at Al, and shrugged. "It didn't work out this year," he said with feigned nonchalance.

Harry's gaze softened. He was grateful that Scorpius had given up on trying out in order to support his friend. He understood how difficult that must have been for him. He decided he quite liked Scorpius Malfoy.

"You're coming home with us," he informed Scorpius, who was craning his head, looking for his dad. "Your grandmother had a fall – nothing serious, your dad said it could be taken care of easily – but he had to bring her to St. Mungo's to do it, and he asked me to look after you in the meanwhile."

"Grandmother's okay? You're sure?" The boy's eyes looked fearful, and Harry quickly reassured him.

"Your dad said she would be fine as soon as the healers looked at her."

"Okay, good." He looked relieved. He hesitated a moment then asked, "You know my dad?"

"Since I was eleven," Harry informed him. "We didn't really get on when we were younger, but we do now." There was a pang when he thought of eighth year, but he let it go.

"Oh," Scorpius seemed to digest that. "He never mentioned you, is all," he pointed out. "But I guess if you didn't used to get along, that explains it."

Al then bustled over and whooped at the news that Scorpius would be staying with them for now. When he heard why he calmed down and offered sympathies to his friend.

Ron kept eyeing Scorpius with suspicion and distrust. "Damn Malfoys," he muttered more than once, until Harry threatened to hex him if he couldn't behave.

All in all, it took a while for them to get home to Grimmauld Place. Once they did, however, Al and Scorpius rushed off to Al's room to play. Lily followed, having been captivated by Scorpius and Harry thought, to his chagrin, that he could see the beginnings of a crush blooming in her eyes.

He sat and talked with James for a bit, before ordering him to go and unpack his trunk in his room. He had just sat down to relax when the Floo chimed.

"Oh Merlin, what now?" he groaned, getting up.

"Potter?" came a familiar drawl. "Are you in?"

"Malfoy," he edged closer to the fire. "How's your mom?"

"She's doing alright. They want to keep her overnight, until the bones heal properly, but I'm free to come pick up Scorpius now."

"No hurry," said Harry mildly. "You can stay with your mum a bit longer if you'd like. Al's loving having him here, and so is Lily. I'm afraid she might be developing a small crush on him." He winced as he spoke those last words. Malfoy laughed.

"Well, at least someone in your family has good taste," he said loftily.

"She's _nine,_" Harry pointed out. "I don`t want her discovering boys yet, thankyouverymuch."

""My mother's kicked me out of the ward. She says I make her nervous, but I suspect she was simply aware of how much I've missed my boy." Harry nodded, understanding how Malfoy felt.

Can I come through?" he asked, and of course Harry said yes.

"How are you doing these days, Malfoy?" asked Harry, as if they hadn't seen each other just last week. Normally Malfoy stopped by more often, but Harry assumed he'd been busy preparing for Christmas in the Manor and Scorpius' return for the holidays.

Malfoy looked surprised. "I'm alright," he answered. "Yourself? Just last week you were whining to me about your lack of passion with the Girl Weasel." There was a hint of a sneer in his voice, and Harry's head snapped up to look at him. His eyes narrowed, slightly.

"Yes, don't worry, I won't do it again," he agreed crisply.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Don't be a baby, Potter. You can cry to me all you want, and I'll pat you on the back and say, 'There, there' all you like. I just reserve the right to make fun of you later on when you're no longer distraught."

Harry had to admit that he could see how fair the proposal was, from Malfoy's point of view. He nodded slowly. "I see. You're all heart, Malfoy."

"Aren't I though? Sometimes I move myself, I'm so giving."

Harry snorted before he could stop himself, and bit back a laugh.

Malfoy sniffed. "I'll have you know, I'm known for my sympathetic nature and caring heart."

"You sure you're not confusing 'sympathetic' and 'caring' with 'sarcastic' and 'git-y'?"

Malfoy shot him a withering look. He was about to reply, when there was a cry of, "_Dad_!" and a small tow head came rushing into the redecorated sitting room and launched itself at Malfoy.

His "Omph!" as he caught the flying bundle made Harry chuckle. Al and Lily hovered in the doorway, watching.

"Scorpius," Malfoy smiled down at his son. "Ready to come home?" He lowered himself on one knee to be face-to-face with the boy.

"Grandmo-"

"Is fine. She just needs to stay overnight because of a particularly bad break. She'll be good as new in the morning."

Scorpius hesitated. "Can I stay and play with Al for just a little longer?" he wheedled.

Malfoy sighed. "Oh, fine. A half hour, alright?"

"Thanks, Dad!"

After Scorpius rushed off, Malfoy moved to get up, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. He turned and looked at the little redhead who was gazing at him adoringly.

"Well, hello there," he said, slightly uncomfortable.

"You're him," she said. "My angel."

Harry choked.

Malfoy shot him a helpless glance while he sputtered, torn between laughing and being outraged at the seeming transference of affections from Scorpius to his father.

"You're the angel that helped me when Mum died," Lily continued. Harry stopped sputtering and Malfoy's eyes widened. "Can you do me a favour?" she continued earnestly. He hesitated, then nodded. "Wait right here," Lily said, then dashed away.

Malfoy looked up at Harry, his expression unfathomable. Harry shrugged helplessly. "I had no idea that's what she thought," he said. "I don't even know where she got the idea of an angel."

"Well, clearly she's got the right idea about what they're like; since she thinks I'm one."

Harry guffawed. Malfoy grinned.

Lily came back into the room with something clutched to her chest. She held it out to him. "Can you give this to my Mum?" she asked softly.

Malfoy looked at Harry, who shrugged again, helplessly. Then he looked straight into Lily's eyes and said, "I'll try, okay, Sweetie?"

She nodded, and he took the paper from her. "Can I look?" he asked, and she hesitated, glanced at her father, then nodded.

"It's for Christmas," she explained.

Malfoy opened it, and saw it was a hand-drawn card. Lily was quite a talented artist, and had managed a recognizable depiction of her family. He felt a lump in his throat at being asked to bring it to her mother. "I'm sure she'll love it," he said, and she glowed. She remained glued to his side for the remainder of his visit.

Remarkably, she didn't seem all that perturbed that her angel was there to pick up Scorpius. Harry figured she must not understand enough about the concept of angels to catch the flaw.

* * *

Christmas at the Burrow was an enjoyable affair, despite the sadness that hung over things. They had learned to celebrate through their grief after the war, and this year echoed that first one very well. Not that Harry could remember that first Christmas, but the others had given him pensieve memories – the only memories he had of the time between the beginning of his sixth year and the time where he'd finally begun to retain memories again, sometime in February of his eighth year. It was largely due to Hermione's many memories of studying over the time span that had allowed him to do so well on his NEWTs.

However, like all enjoyable things, Harry had to do something to fuck it up. Namely, tell Ron about Lily's mistake, assuming that he would find it as funny and sweet as Harry did, and that it might prompt Ron to think a little better of Malfoy, knowing he'd played along for Lily's sake.

"Let me get this straight: Lily believes that Malfoy – _Draco Malfoy_ – is an angel. More specifically, she believes that he's going to be hand delivering a Christmas card to my sister." Ron glared at Harry as though he had personally orchestrated the whole thing.

"I don't care, if it helps her get through the holidays, I'm all for it. She can be disillusioned later on, when the grief isn't so fresh." Harry ran his fingers through his hair, which didn't help its untidy state. He winced. Ginny used to be on him about doing that all the time.

Ron was still sputtering. "But it's _Malfoy_, Harry. _Malfoy._" He glared some more. "You know, blonde, pointy, Slytherin git who made our lives hell at school?"

"I was under the impression that that was Voldemort," replied Harry dryly. "Well, except the bit about being blonde and pointy."

"You know what I mean!" Ron exploded.

"No, actually, I don't." Harry folded his arms and narrowed his eyes at Ron.

"He's a former death-eater, Harry! And you're letting my niece talk to him, and think he's nice, and –"

"He _is_ nice, Ron. He's not the same as he was when he was fighting with me and we wanted to hex each other's bits off. And if I recall correctly from Hermione's pensieve memories, _I_ showed pensieve memories at his trial proving that he wasn't a killer, that everything he did as a death eater was under duress, and that when he had the opportunity to sell me out he kept his mouth shut; even though it could have been disastrous for him if it came out what he'd done."

"You're _defending_ him? You think he's _nice_?" Ron gaped. "Spend a lot of time with him, do you?" The question was meant to be rhetorical. Harry shrugged.  
"Actually, yes."

Ron gaped some more. "_What_?"

Harry sighed. "After… the hospital, he offered to listen to me whenever I needed someone to vent to. Someone who knew what it was like to lose a wife to talk to. I said yes."

"You could have talked to me," protested Ron.

"Ron, you were suffering. You didn't need me venting to you about my grief, you had a hard enough time with your own. Besides, you don't know what it's like to lose a spouse. Malfoy does." He held up a hand as Ron started objecting again. "He's been a real comfort to me, Ron."

"Are you sleeping with him?" Ron spit the words bitterly.

"_What_?" Harry gaped now.

"Are you shagging Malfoy?"

"What – why would I be?" Harry stared at his friend in bewilderment.

"Just thought it might explain a few things," Ron said, still in that bitter tone.

"Ron, he's a friend. That's a far cry from shagging each other, or else we've been doing it wrong for the last twenty-six years."

Ron snorted, but looked slightly mollified.

George choose that moment to burst into the room. "There you are, Harry!" he called out. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

"Why?" Harry moved towards him swiftly. "Is it the kids? Has something –"

"No, no, nothing like that," George flapped a hand at him, reaching out and seizing Harry's wrist. "You're going to come and play a drinking game with me."

Harry started to protest and George shushed him. "Angie's watching the kids. She and Hermione'll take care of things. You can come too, Ron," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Harry allowed himself to be hauled off, with Ron following, muttering darkly about, "Just his brother" and "What am I, diced flobberworm?"

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy lay in her bed and thought to herself. It had been a good Christmas – Scorpius had enjoyed himself, and that was generally how she and Draco gauged their holidays. She wondered how Draco was faring. He'd frequently looked lost in thought, something he did often these days. She wondered how much of that was due to Harry Potter.

She was not so naïve as her son gave her credit for being. She remembered all too well the way he'd gazed at the other boy, the abject misery and _want_ so clearly outlined in his face when he thought no one was looking. The hunger with which he'd eyed the Chosen One.

From his letters during the beginning of his eighth year, she understood that the boys grew quite close, only to abruptly fall out following Harry's accident during the Christmas holidays. She recalled the glazed, overjoyed look that had been in his eyes at the start of the Christmas holidays, the dreamy way he would stare into the distance, before his owls started to be returned unopened, and wondered sometimes just how close they'd gotten before Harry forgot everything.

She wondered now, how wise it was, for him to be mending his friendship with Harry. It wasn't that she didn't like Harry, or wish to be on good terms with him – she did. It's just that being on good terms with him and reopening old wounds were two very different matters.

She frowned into the darkness. She didn't want her son hurt again. The pain he went through following Potter's rejection of him had been agonizing for her to watch, particularly as he chose not to confide in her and therefore left her without knowing how to comfort him.

She wondered what she could do to prevent him from being hurt again. She was a mother who, as Harry himself had stood and informed the Wizengamot, would do anything for her son. If 'anything' included lying to a dark lord, than 'anything' definitely included seeing to it that he did not have his heart broken twice by the Saviour of the Wizarding World.

* * *

**A/N:** As I said last chapter, I'm going to be asking a question with each chapter and answering it myself, as well.

Why do you read Drarry? Why do you ship them? If not, who do you ship, and why?

Drarry is my OTP. Harry and Draco give me the warm fuzzies, even when they're at each other's throats, because you know they want each other. I can't get enough reading them, and had to start writing my own.


	7. Chapter 7 - Break This Curse

**Chapter Seven: **Curse

**Disclaimer:** I make no money, I own nothing; though I totally dibs Tom Felton. What. O.o

**Warning: **Explicit sex. Slashy sex. Meaning two men, together. In bed. Things of an adult nature occur. Do not read if you are underage, or your cookie privileges are hereby revoked. Oh, and language. Bad words, very bad. Naughty things are said and done in this chapter.

**A/N: **Okay, so I got a lot more explicit than I meant to in this chapter. I go from not being able to write any sex at all in my fiction to writing gay sex more and more graphically each time I try. Tell me how I did, because really; I want to know. Not just about the smut (although critiques (and praise) are welcome), but about the whole thing in general. This chapter is mostly fluffy and smutty, although you also finally find out exactly what happened to Harry. There are two short paragraphs copied from _The Half Blood Prince_, just to show you where Harry's memory resets to. They are in italics.

Sorry I didn't post this yesterday, I forgot which day of the week it was and got lazy about finishing this chapter. I will normally update on Thursdays; Fridays at the latest.

Also, **Annabel**, **Lila**, **VenustusLovesJames**, **Daddy's little crazy bitch**, **Mai Jim Oliver** and one guest whose name I don't know; I love you guys. Thank you so much for your reviews! :) To everyone who reviewed, favorited, or followed, thank you! You guys keep me writing! **Mai Jim Oliver** thank you especially for telling me exactly what you liked in the story! That really helps!

If you're not signed in, I can't reply to you directly, but I still appreciate the reviews! **Amanda**, thanks for reading over these for me and telling me what you thought! You're awesome and I love you!

Now, on to the story: enjoy!

* * *

_Cause I can't sit, oh, I can't talk_

_I gotta leave this town and run to you_

_Curse these nights that speak your name_

_I gotta leave this town and come to you_

_Break this curse_

_Break this curse_

Curse – Imagine Dragons

* * *

Draco woke and stared at Harry. He wondered what time it was. Staying in the Room of Requirement and only venturing out to raid the kitchens when they were hungry, had its drawbacks. More like a single drawback. Actually, Draco wasn't so sure that it was a drawback, because losing track of what day it was sounded awfully good to him. Maybe Harry would just stay here with him for the rest of the break after all, and they could shag to their hearts' content.

He quite liked that idea. So less of a drawback, more of a perk.

He turned and stared at the other boy, watching him sleep. He lifted a long, slender finger and traced a line across the darker boy's jaw. He trailed it up along the side of his face, and across his forehead. He lightly traced the lightning bolt cut jaggedly into the skin.

"Mmm," Harry stirred.

"Shh, love," Draco whispered, wanting Harry to wake but wanting to enjoy watching him sleep a little longer at the same time. He laid a hand on Harry's bare shoulder. "You don't have to get up yet."

Harry groaned. He put one hand on his forehead, covering his eyes with his arm. "I do, though. I'm leaving today, remember?"

Draco's stomach tightened in a knot.

"Fine then," he snapped and pulled away. He hadn't realized Harry would be leaving today, so soon. Even though Harry had been adamant about it, he still couldn't help the crushing disappointment that weighed on him. He'd let his hopes get up for nothing.

"Draco," Harry sighed in a low voice, putting a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off.

"Go on then, Potter. Leave," he spat bitterly.

"I'm not leaving yet, you insufferable prat," replied Harry, eyes narrowing. "And I would have thought you'd want our last day of winter break together to be a little bit nicer than this."

"Well I can't help it if you would rather see your other friends – the ones you're around all the time, anyway – than me." His tone was icy, but he felt tears prickle the backs of his eyes, and swallowed. He would not cry over this. That was just stupid, and Malfoys did not do stupid things. Well, except maybe for choosing to follow a dark wizard and take his mark, but still. It was the principle of the thing. Crying was beneath him on so many levels.

Harry sighed again. "Draco, I'm doing this for us, you big twat. Don't you want to be my boyfriend in public, or do you prefer sneaking around, hoping no one will catch us, and hardly getting any time alone together? Don't you want me to claim you as mine in front of my friends? To tell people that I'm in love with you?" His voice was incredibly tender. Draco thawed, a little.

"I do wish the Girl Weasel would back off," he admitted. He quite liked the idea of being on Harry's arm in public, being able to kiss him hello or goodbye without worrying if someone saw, and going on dates. His heart fluttered a little.

"Why not just wait until after the break to tell them? Come to the Manor with me. Mother would love to see you again and that way we can be together."

"Draco," Harry's voice was soft. "I _promised_ my friends, and I don't break my promises. Besides, I think Ron – and maybe Ginny, I'm not sure – will likely begin hexing at some point after finding out, and it's better if you're not around for that."

Draco sniffed. "You do have a point, Scarhead."

Harry laughed. "Tell you what, if they freak out and kick me out, I'm all yours."

"Great. So I'm the alternative to being thrown out on the streets."

"Draco!" Harry was laughing now in earnest, not so much at Draco's words as the expression on his face. "There's just no pleasing you, is there?"

"Actually, I can think of a way you could definitely please me, if you'd like to hear it," purred Draco, and Harry chuckled.

"Oh, really? And what would that be?" He quirked a brow suggestively and Draco smiled back. Then his smile faltered, just a little.

"Make love to me, Harry." It came out almost like a plea, and Draco's cheeks burned. "Make love to me like it's the end of the world."

Harry flushed under the smoldering slate of his eyes. "Draco, it's just a few days. Just over a week."

"I have a bad feeling, Harry," burst Draco. "I don't know what it is, but it doesn't feel right. Like I'm never going to see you again. If you go I'll lose you." Desperation crept into his voice. He didn't know where the fear had come from, only that it was earth shattering in its intensity.

He gazed into Harry's eyes, willing him to understand. _Don't go_.

"You're never going to lose me, Draco," said Harry, with conviction. He put his arms around the other boy and pulled him close, on top of himself. "You couldn't get rid of me if you tried, not now." He kissed him, gently.

Draco returned the kiss and made it frantic; fierce, clashing their mouths together with something like desperation. Knowing what he had just admitted, Harry thought it probably was. Their teeth clacked and Draco worried his bottom lip and Harry licked at Draco's lips. They parted with a moan. Harry dove in and they were soon lost in the intensity, the flood of _feeling_.

Lips, soft and moist. Tongues, rough and slippery. Hands, rough with callouses from riding brooms. The flat expanses of one another's chest and stomach, the smooth planes of a thigh, a hip. Both were still nude and it didn't take long for each to feel the growing hardness of the other's cock, twitching between their bodies.

Harry reached down and began to stroke Draco, and he let out a whimper. "Oh, Harry," he gasped through their kisses. "_Harry_."

Harry kissed him once more than pulled away and stilled his strokes. Draco let out another soft whimper and thrust against him. "Draco," Harry said softly. "Do you want to top this time?"

Draco hesitated. "Are you sure?"

Harry smiled. "Yeah."

Draco bit his bottom lip; making Harry's mouth water, as small frown lines appeared on his forehead. "What if I hurt you?"

"You won't," Harry shook his head. "I trust you, Draco. I want you – all of you. Inside and out. Figuratively and literally," he added, and Draco smiled slightly. Then he faltered.

"I've never done this before. What if I –"

"Draco," said Harry, a trifle firmly. "I'd never done it before either, not until in this room, with you, just a few days ago. And unless I'm reading things very wrong, you've been enjoying it quite a bit since then. Repeatedly. Haven't you?"

"That's different," Draco argued. "You're… you." Harry looked exasperated, but Draco didn't know how to continue. How to explain the worry and the fear that Harry was just naturally talented and Draco wouldn't be. Just like he was at Quidditch; besting Draco again while hardly even trying. He knew it was a petty thing to be insecure about. He just couldn't help it. It was like his brain had become so wired to think of everything as a competition between the two of them that he couldn't stop, even in the bedroom. Merlin, but he was insecure a lot these days. What a girl he was turning out to be.

He tried to explain, and was not impressed when Harry began to laugh.

"It's not a competition, Draco." He shook his head, brushing Draco's hair out of his eyes, as his fringe had fallen forward. He kissed Draco's nose. "Even if it was, there are plenty of things you're better at than I am, so there's no reason for you to be insecure. How would we even gauge that kind of competition, anyway?" Harry looked amused. "What would we have to compare it to?"

His smile faltered for a moment, then he pressed on with slightly forced cheerfulness. "I mean, unless you… that is, if you've ever… with anyone else…" his voice trailed off.

"Why Potter," Draco drawled, a small smile playing at his lips. "Are you jealous?"

"I – no – that is –" Harry's face flushed. "Maybe. Just a little."

"Jealous of someone who doesn't exist then," Draco grinned. "Harry Potter, jealous of imaginary blokes."

"Shut up, prat," came Harry's flustered response.

"It's just you, Harry." Draco's voice was soft. "It's always been you, for me. No one else; not ever." Draco kissed him gently, then licked a stripe down his jaw. Harry growled and kissed him back, roughly. After a few intense moments he pulled back again, and Draco made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Harry said. "I just… I thought it might help. You know, make you feel better about things. I want you to claim me before I go." He smiled at Draco, bright green eyes shining with love and trust and desire.

Draco smiled back. "Alright," he agreed softly.

They kissed again, exploring one another's mouths with their tongues, and each other's bodies with their hands. After only a few days, they already seemed to have each other memorized. It had been a productive few days.

Draco nibbled on that one spot on Harry's neck he'd discovered and Harry moaned, bucking his hips. Draco ground back against him, and Harry moaned again. Draco nibbled and flicked his tongue and Harry gasped.

"_Fuck_, Draco," he rasped out. He spread his legs and moved against his partner.

Draco sat up, and Harry let out a cry at the loss of contact. He tried to pull him back, but Draco just grinned at him, and stooped to place a chaste kiss on his lips. Then he grabbed his wand, _Accio_'d the lube, and laid his wand back on the bedside table again. He spread a generous amount on his fingers, then carefully reached down to touch Harry's entrance. Harry shivered at the contact.

"Relax, love." Draco kissed him softly. "Just like I do for you." Harry relaxed and Draco slipped a finger inside him. It felt strange; there was a slight burn but it felt good at the same time. Draco gently fingered him, thrusting back and forth until the burn faded. Then he added a second finger, and the burn came back; again mingled with pleasure. He twisted his fingers around and _Oh! Dear Merlin_, Harry thought. He let out a gasp and cried out. Draco stilled.

"Are you all-"

"Don't stop!" Harry gasped. "Whatever you did, do it again!" He shuddered. "_Please_, Draco." A slow smile spread over Draco's face, and he obliged. Harry began to writhe beneath him. He added a third finger, and again the burn, again the pleasure.

"Draco, I'm ready," Harry gasped. Draco hesitated. "Draco, _please_. I _need_ you. _Now_!" Draco slid his fingers out and positioned himself, holding on to Harry's knees. He carefully, slowly began to slide into Harry, moaning at the tightness surrounding him, but cautious; remembering the pain he'd felt his first time and wanting Harry to feel as little of that as possible. Harry let out a cry and he stilled, still only partway inside. After a moment, Harry thrust his hips against him, and Draco gasped at the sensation.

"_Fuck_, Harry! Merlin's Beard!"

Harry grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. "Keep going," he whispered throatily. Draco's gut clenched and his cock twitched at the sound. He slid forward some more, eliciting more noises from Harry. He hesitated, but continued to move forwards slowly until at last he was completely embedded inside Harry. He waited for Harry's body to adjust. Hell, he was waiting for his own body to adjust. It felt like a sensory overload, being inside of Harry.

Harry bucked against him, and whispered, "It's alright now," and Draco began to move. Slowly, carefully; gauging his speed and his strength by Harry's reactions. Then he hit one spot and _oh_! Harry clenched around him and bucked, half raised off the bed.

_"Fuck, god, Merlin, Draco_…" He babbled, and Draco began to speed up. Harry saw stars. He was babbling; gibbering and crying and screaming and suddenly he was coming, without Draco even having touched him. He felt Draco come, filling him, and he felt a kind a awe sweep through him. Draco collapsed against him and began trailing kisses all along his face, still inside him.

"Oh, Harry," he whispered. "Harry."

"Draco," murmured Harry dazedly. After a moment he absently began nibbling on the ear that was turned towards him. "I think you won that competition we weren't having."

Draco let out a breathy laugh and Harry smiled, still trembling in the afterglow. "I'm serious, hun; that was… Draco, I can't even tell you how amazing that was."

Draco smiled, closing his eyes. "It wasn't exactly bad for me, either," he said breathlessly. "Fuck, Harry; that was incredible."

"You're incredible," murmured Harry, and Draco turned his face towards him and they kissed again, slowly, leisurely.

They passed the rest of the day snogging and making love once more, before Harry's _Tempus_ charm told him it was time to leave. He had packed before the break started, so as to avoid taking up any more of his time with Draco than necessary.

They walked to Hogsmeade together, both cold and dreading the goodbye before Apparition. They huddled together as they walked, and in consequence the walk took longer than expected. They reached the Apparition point and stood still awkward in the silence.

"Draco," murmured Harry, stroking his boyfriend's face. He shied away from the contact.

"Just go, Harry. Don't drag this out and make it harder than it needs to be." Draco's voice was miserable. For a moment Harry wavered, so tempted to give in; to just say, "_Yes, I'll stay with you; I want to be together._" But he held firm.

"Goodbye, Draco," he said softly, and kissed his boyfriend on the lips. Gently, tenderly; trying to convey all the love and adoration he felt in this single action. Draco sniffled.

"Fuck you," he whispered, angrily, tears blurring his grey eyes. He dashed them away furiously. "Why'd you have to go and do that?"

"Because I'm going to miss you as much as you're going to miss me, you great git," Harry replied evenly. "I love you." He kissed Draco again, tilting his head back to reach the slightly taller boy's mouth.

"I love you, too," Draco sounded defeated. He didn't even bother insulting Harry back, which was not like him. Harry hated that. Draco not acting like Draco made his heart clench. He hated that defeated sound in Draco's voice. He wished he could just give his boyfriend what he wanted. He knew Draco was sulking beyond what the situation called for, but it didn't stop his heart from aching over it. Even so, he had made up his mind.

He had no way of knowing then what this action would cost him.

With one last hug, and a final kiss, he stepped back and Apperated to the Burrow.

* * *

"You _what_?"

"Calm down, Ron," Harry said patiently. "I said I'm dating Draco."

Ron looked sick. Harry felt mildly frustrated, but he'd expected no less. "Malfoy, Harry? _Malfoy_?"

"Yes, Ron, Draco Malfoy." A pause. "I love him."

Ron made a strangled sounding noise in the back of his throat.

"I know it's a shock, me liking blokes, and the bloke I like being Malfoy, but –"

"Look, mate, I could try to deal with you liking blokes – Merlin knows we've been friends long enough that that shouldn't matter – but Malfoy, Harry, seriously?"

"He's changed, Ron. If you gave him half a chance, you'd see that."

"I don't bloody well want to give him a fucking chance!" Ron exploded at him. "He's, he's _Malfoy_, Harry; we hate him! He's a fucking ferret-faced asshole who made our lives hell; he's a goddamn _Death Eater_, Harry!"

"Don't, Ron." Harry's voice was sharp. "I love him, and you're bloody well going to have to deal with that."

"Fuck!" Ron punched the wall. He and Harry stood in silence for several miserable minutes, not looking at each other. "Mate… What about Ginny? Did you have fun stringing her along all this time?" Ron's voice was cutting.

"No! I told her over and over that we were done, and she didn't want to listen to me! I'm going to tell her about Malfoy after we're done talking. I know she'll probably hit me with a bat bogey hex or something, but I honestly don't know what I could have done differently, besides tell her about Malfoy when we weren't ready for people to know yet. And I wasn't doing that. I wasn't betraying him."

"Well you'd better hurry up and fucking tell her, then," Ron's mouth could be foul when he was mad, and Harry had never seen him so furious. His lips were drawn in a tight, white line, and he was shaking.

Harry wished Hermione were here. She would have helped keep Ron from losing it. But Hermione was off with her _Obliviated_ parents, getting to know each other all over again. That was a long, slow, painful journey that Harry did not want to make any harder for her, hence his decision not to wait for her to spill his news. He was regretting that now.

"I guess I will," Harry said, as calmly as he could, although he was inwardly cringing at the thought of facing two pissed-off Weasleys at once.

He turned and walked out of Ron's room. Ron followed, hot on his heels.

"Ginny?" Harry called. Wherever he went, she wasn't far. Sure enough, she popped into view almost immediately.

"Hey, Harry," she said, smiling coquettishly at him. Ron growled and Harry squirmed uncomfortably.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Definitely," she answered, smiling broadly.

He followed her into her room, and Ron surprised them both by following them in.

"Out, Ronald!" Ginny glared, but he shook his head.

"I want to be here for this, Gin."

"This is between me and Harry, Ron! Get out!"

"It's okay," cut in Harry, before Ron could say any more. "He can stay."

Ginny looked confused, but quieted and gave Harry a questioning glance.

"Gin," he said. 'I know you fancy me. And I'm flattered. But I've told you before; I see you as a sister, not a girlfriend. And I need to tell you now that I'm seeing someone, and it's serious."

Ginny's jaw dropped. "Since… since when? Who is it? Why?" Her tone was wounded and her face twisted as she started to cry. "How could it be serious, Harry? You're _mine_," she said in a small voice.

"No, Ginny," Harry said, his voice low. "I'm not. I haven't been for a long time, and you know it."

"You're meant to be mine! I've loved you since I was a little girl!"

"No, Ginny," Harry said firmly. "You loved the _idea_ of me. You don't really know who I am, let alone love me." The words surprised Harry, even though he knew they were true. Ginny let out a scream and began hitting him, shrieking as she pounded with her fists.

"No, you can't say that; you can't, Harry, you _can't_!" Harry stumbled back, overwhelmed, but quickly came to his senses and grabbed her wrists to stop her and hold her off.

"I'm sorry, Ginny, but that's the way it is." His voice was firm, strong. He thought of Draco and the thought gave him strength. He looked tenderly at the girl he loved as a sister. It pained him to hurt her, but he had no choice.

"Tell her who it is, Harry." Ron's voice cut in sharply. "She deserves to know just _who_," he sneered the word, "You're giving her up for."

"I'm not giving her up for anyone. There was nothing to give up," said Harry, beginning to feel exasperated.

"Who is it?" Ginny demanded, her face streaked with tears, her voice shrill. "Who? Tell me, Harry. I deserve to know!" She remained in his hold, looking defeated, hurt, and angry.

"Draco Malfoy," Harry answered, his voice soft. "He's my boyfriend, and I love him."

Ginny stared for a moment in shock. Then she shrieked again, howling in fury, struggling to get free from his grip so she could pound him some more.

"Oi!" Ron sounded furious. "Let her go!"

"So she can beat me? I don't think so," Harry answered dryly.

Ron's face twisted in a snarl. "Let my sister go!"

Harry opened his mouth, but his words were lost under the Caterwauling Charm that went off, suddenly.

There was a great crash from outside, and through the Caterwauling Charm they could hear shouting, and the sounds of spells being fired.

Harry released Ginny, gently pushing her into Ron's arms. He turned and ran for the stairs. He flew outside, wand out, ready to help.

There were Death Eaters there; the last hold-outs who'd been in hiding from the ministry. Harry jumped into the fray, firing off spells and raising his shields.

_"Stupefy!_"

"_Protego_!"

"_Reducto_!"

"_Expelliarmus_!"

"Nice one, Harry!" yelled Bill, firing off spells to his right. The man shot him a grin through his scarred face, then quickly turned his attention back to the fight.

"Thanks for the back-up!" called Charlie.

"Nice timing!" added George, and Harry took down a Death Eater who was sneaking around the back.

As soon as he was spotted, a cry went up.

"There he is! It's Potter!"

The Death Eaters all but ignored the Weasleys in favour of attacking him. He fought the best he could, and Bill, Charlie, George, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley did their best to help shield him, but when three Death Eaters hit him at once with a multi-voiced cry of "_Reducto_!" his shield charm evaporated and he went flying through the air. His head bashed into the corner of the house and his world went black.

* * *

_A few days before the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw Quidditch final, Harry found himself walking down to dinner alone from the common room, Ron having rushed off into a nearby bathroom to throw up yet again, and Hermione having dashed off to see Professor Vector about a mistake she thought she might have made in her last Arithmancy essay. More out of habit than anything, Harry made his usual detour along the seventh-floor corridor, checking the Marauder's Map as he went. For a moment he could not find Malfoy anywhere and assumed he must indeed be inside the Room of Requirement again, but then he saw Malfoy's tiny, labeled dot standing in a boys' bathroom on the floor below, accompanied, not by Crabbe or Goyle, but by Moaning Myrtle._

_Harry only stopped staring at this unlikely coupling when he walked right into a suit of armor. The loud crash brought him out of his reverie; hurrying from the scene lest Filch turn up, he dashed down the marble staircase and along the passageway below. Outside the bathroom, he pressed his ear against the door. He could not hear anything. He very quietly pushed the door open._

_Draco Malfoy was standing with his back to the door, his hands clutching either side of the sink, his white-blond head bowed._

Harry opened his eyes slowly. His head felt like it had taken a Bludger. Repeatedly. He was lying on a bed in a sterile looking white room, with a potted plant in the corner and two chairs by his bedside. They were both empty.

He tried to sit up, but the pain in his head exploded like a thousand knives. He tried to remember the last thing he remembered; something about seeing Malfoy in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom on the sixth floor and heading there to confront him.

Had Malfoy done this then? Cursed him with Merlin-knew-what and put him in the hospital?

He cursed Malfoy under his breath, hate flooding his chest. Stupid Slytherin git. He closed his eyes, hissing against the light. _Fuck_, his head hurt. He heard voices, and groaned as his head pounded. There was a gasp, and a cry of, "He's awake!" but he didn't care. He just wanted the voices to _go away_.

"Harry, how do you feel?" It was Hermione, and she sounded like she had been crying.

"Like hell," he croaked.

"Blimey, mate," whispered Ron. "We almost lost you."

"Malfoy did this," Harry felt it was important to tell them. To make sure that they understood, because Merlin only knew if anyone else even knew who had cursed him. "Tell Dumbledore."

"Harry," Hermione sounded frightened. "We can't… he's not here anymore, Harry, you know that."

"Where's Dumbledore? What do you mean he's not here? We're looking for Horcruxes together, remember? I told you guys about it. It's how we're going to defeat Voldemort." He realizes he's speaking out of turn and maybe he shouldn't be saying this, because who knows who could overhear, but he can't think straight and oh, _Merlin_, his head _hurts_. When he gets out of here, he's going to _kill_ Malfoy. That is, if Dumbledore hasn't seen to it that the evil git got shipped straight to Azkaban already.

There was a flurry of whispering, and Hermione started crying softly. A rustling, and suddenly there was a Healer there, bending over him.

"Mr. Potter," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I went five rounds with a Bludger and lost." He winced at the effort from talking. He kept his eyes closed. In the nice cool dark, it hurt a little less.

"What's the last thing you can remember, Mr. Potter?"

"Malfoy's been up to something in the Room of Requirement, and I've been trying to find out what it is." He swallowed, wishing his head would hurt less, that he wouldn't have to fight so hard to get the words out. "I saw him on the map in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom on the sixth floor." Fuck, no one was supposed to know about the Map. He swallowed again and hurriedly went on. "I went to confront him and he… he did something. Cursed me. I don't remember."

"Harry, are you talking about the Sectumsempra thing?" Ron's voice, tinged with disbelief.

"How do you know that spell?" Harry asked sharply. Pain exploded in his head; he saw stars and shut up. After a moment he continued more evenly, "Were you peeking in the Prince's book, Ron?"

"Oh, _Harry_," Hermione started crying again.

Harry didn't understand what was happening. "What's going on?" he asked, numbly.

"Mr. Potter, what is today's date?"

Harry tried to think. It was hard. His brain felt like raw, screaming hamburger that had just been ground.

"It's, uhm…" He hesitated. "May… something… 1997." He bit his lip till it drew blood and let out a shaky breath. "I forget the day, but I know the year and the month." Paused. "Quidditch final's coming up."

Hermione was sobbing noisily and he grimaced. The sound was driving him crazy. He heard the Healer talking to Ron and Hermione in a low voice but could only make out snippets of conversation.

"…possible brain damage… …memory loss… …potentially irreversible…"

He scrunched up his eyes and wished for Ginny. He should have just asked her out. Now he was stuck in the hospital for who knew how long and what if she found someone new before he got out?

"Drink this, Mr. Potter," the Healer's disembodied voice came back. "It will help with the pain."

He was helped into a partial sitting position. He opened his mouth and swallowed the potion, making a face at the horrid taste.

Then he laid back down, and the world swirled mercifully back into darkness.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes and blinked in the darkened room. He hadn't thought about the day he woke up with two years of his life missing in a long time. He sometimes dreamed memories, some real, some imagined. He couldn't stand that he didn't always know which were which.

The dreams about Malfoy, though – _Draco_, his subconscious whispered – those had been plaguing him for the last several months, since just before the Christmas holidays. It had started with that one about losing his virginity to Draco – he knew that hadn't happened, he and Ginny had lost their virginity to each other – and they had continued ever since. They were entirely inappropriate and uncalled for. Draco – _Malfoy_, Harry corrected himself – would be offended if he knew. Plus Harry was still grieving. Sort of. Even if Dra– Malfoy was interested in him, it was too soon to be thinking about things like that.

Even if the dreams more often than not left him rock hard and desperate to wank to the image of Draco. Even if the Draco in his dreams made his heart race. Even if the relationship Dream Harry and Dream Draco had was everything he had ever wanted.

It wasn't right. And none of it was real.

Draco – Malfoy – would have said something if it was. There was no way he would have let what they had go, if they had in fact had it. Harry was sure of it. So it had to be a lie, some bizarre fantasy conjured by his subconscious desire to have all his needs fulfilled. Draco Malfoy was his _friend_. A friend who was currently acting as an emotional support to Harry, hence the reason his subconscious picked him. Nothing more to it.

He couldn't deny that the thought made him just a little bit sad. Maybe more than a little.

* * *

**A/N: **There you are for this week - and as for the question, here it is:

What's your favourite Harry Potter book/movie, and why?

Mine is the Deathly Hallows. I have a love/hate relationship with that book. It's so amazing and the plot is so intricate and yet it breaks my heart. I do love the Half Blood Prince, as well. So much Draco-Obsessed Harry. *le sigh* And, well, all of the books, really. Gah. Impossible choices!


	8. Chapter 8 - Where Do I Go From Here?

**Chapter Eight:** Where Do I Go From Here?

**Disclaimer: **I own naught but the plot. The characters and the world they inhabit is the property of one J.K. Rowling.

**Warnings:** Language

**A/N:** Thank you for all the follows and favourites, and a special thanks to **Daddy's little crazy bitch**,** halvwyn**, and** harrytwifan** for their reviews! Big thank you to my friend **Amanda** for giving me her two cents on the story. Reviews keep me writing, and the more I get the more I want to write - as evidenced by my getting this newest chapter out early. Special thanks to all who rec'ed my fics (such as **harrytwifan**). You guys are awesome! :) _That_ is some serious motivation!

I hope to have Chapter Nine up by this week's regular scheduled time - Thursday or Friday.

This chapter, like the last one, is a little bit sad. Ok, really sad. It's a hurt/comfort chapter. I promise that the story won't stay that way, but I'm trying to tell the full story of what happened between Harry and Draco when they were eighth years at Hogwarts. Unfortunately it's not all fluff.

* * *

I took a walk on a Saturday night  
Fog in the air  
Just to make my mind seem clear  
Where do I go from here?  
I see my breath pushing steam through the air  
Shaking hands run through my hair  
My fears, where do I go from here?

My Fault - Imagine Dragons

* * *

Harry walked through the hall on his way to Double Potions with a pounding headache. His head hurt all the time these days, as did his heart. So many of his loved ones were dead. One minute he was - not stalking; _investigating, _there was a difference - Draco Malfoy to prove he was a Death Eater and up to no good; the next he was waking up in a hospital bed, and being informed that he'd just forgotten two years of his life and a whole host of his loved ones and friends were dead.

Apparently the last two years had been a barrel of laughs, if the constant nightmares that plagued him were anything to go by. He remembered little of them, and was still struggling to remember the events of day-to-day within hours of them having occurred. However his memory was steadily improving, and had reached a level where the healers were willing to allow him to return to school.

He would have been hopelessly lost if not for Hermione; she generously provided Pensieve memories of studying and attending classes to make up for everything he'd forgotten. She, Ron, and several others - mainly Weasleys - had also provided him with a number of personal memories. He even saw a couple of his own Penseive memories - a surreal experience.

Upon learning that he had testified on behalf of Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, he had demanded to see Pensieve memories of himself giving testimony, and upon learning that he had provided Pensieve memories as proof of his testimony, had insisted on viewing those as well. Even though that meant watching Dumbledore die, and viewing Malfoy's actions through the scar connection to Voldemort.

_That_ had left him abjectly miserable. He felt like shit, had been hit with a lot of loss and grief at once out of the blue, relived some very painful memories, and on top of that was being forced to consider that he had misjudged Malfoy. _Malfoy_. As in Draco Sodding. He was definitely _not_ anticipating running into the blond - intended to avoid him altogether if he could help it. Hermione had told him that he considered Malfoy a friend before the accident.

A _friend_? _Malfoy_? No sodding way.

He didn't care what had happened to apparently change his mind, he knew that he couldn't possibly be friends with Malfoy. So he would just try to avoid the other boy, and if push came to shove, he'd admit that he'd lost two years of his memory and couldn't remember a single good reason to be civil to him. Other than Malfoy refusing to identify him in Malfoy Manor that one time, from a Pensieve memory of his own he'd seen, which he could just conveniently forget to mention knowing about.

He'd have to hope that Malfoy accepted that and let it alone.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he ran into someone. There was a startled, "Oomph!" and they went down together in a flurry of arms and legs and robes. "Sorry," he said, feeling awkward and embarrassed and reaching to help whoever it was up. He froze. It was Malfoy.

They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, both frozen. Then Malfoy whispered, "Harry!" and with a low cry launched himself at Harry's throat. It happened so fast he didn't have a chance to defend himself, and it took a moment to register that Malfoy wasn't attacking him; he had thrown his arms around Harry's neck and was murmuring, "Harry, Harry, _Harry_," into his neck.

Malfoy began trailing light, feathery kisses across his collarbone and he shivered; it felt so good, so _right_, and that was wrong - wrong on so many levels and as soon as he processed that he shoved Malfoy away, hard. Malfoy had the gall to look hurt and confused.

"Harry," he spoke haltingly at first, then in a rush, voice rising in a state of near-panic. "What happened? You've been out of class for over a month, and you never replied to any of my owls, and I don't know what's been going on; I've been worried sick and Granger and Weasley won't say a word, and-"

"Sorry, Malfoy," Harry cut in abruptly. "But I've lost the last two years of my memory, and as far as I'm concerned, we hate each other's guts."

Malfoy made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. "No," he whispered, eyes wide, appearing utterly stricken. "No, that's, that's not true Harry, it's not... you couldn't forget me, you couldn't..." He was babbling and his voice was rising, octaves higher than it had any right to be. He really did appear to be on the verge of panic. He tried to grab Harry's hand but Harry shook him off, impatient.

"A group of renegade Death Eaters attacked the Burrow my first night there," he snapped. Malfoy shut up and sucked in a sharp breath. "I got hit by a triple _Reducto_ and went flying. Hit my head hard enough to cause permanent brain damage." He spat the last words bitterly. Malfoy looked to be on the verge of tears. His eyes were filled with terror and he was even paler than normal.

"You've forgotten everything? Permanently?" His voice was hoarse.

Permanent wasn't entirely true; after the healers had exhausted all other options, magical and muggle, Harry had been told that if he worked with a skilled Legillimens and managed to master Occlumency he might be able to regain the memories. However, he knew from his experiences with Snape how unpleasant that would be, and how unlikely it was to succeed. Not to mention how few of the memories he would be getting back would be memories he actually wanted, from what he understood of what his last two years had been like. It hadn't been a hard decision at that point. He had simply given up. But there was no need to explain this to Malfoy. He'd already explained more than he'd intended, because the blond's reactions made him feel almost sorry for him.

Suddenly he hated the git, hated him as strongly as he ever had; hated him for making him feel pity, for making him say more than he meant to, for acting like he _cared_ about Harry. And then there was that business with the kissing his neck; what on earth had _that_ been about? That was just plain weird. Nevermind that he'd sort of liked it before his brain caught up with his body and supplied that this was _Malfoy_ and he'd remembered to be shocked and disgusted; it was almost as if Malfoy fancied him and that was just _not on_.

No, he didn't care how close they'd gotten or how much Malfoy had changed or even if he'd misjudged Malfoy; he hated the git and that was it.

Rather than answering he simply nodded impatiently and Malfoy hesitated. He looked like there was so much he wanted to say, but he was holding himself back and felt a trifle lost in consequence. "How are you even able to come back to school?" he asked, cautiously. He looked so _wounded_, it made Harry uncomfortable and left him feeling obligated to answer.

"Pensieve memories of Hermione studying and attending classes."

Malfoy blinked. "That works?"

Harry shrugged, growing more irritated by the moment. "Mostly. It let me get caught up on school work and get a few personal memories from my best friends back."

Malfoy's face lit up like the sun, and for a moment Harry blinked, at a loss. For a moment he'd looked at Malfoy and thought, _Beautiful_. He shook his head, feeling his gorge rise at the uncomfortable and irrational emotions whirling through him. Malfoy began chattering excitedly. "Let me give you some of my memories, then! Let me show you-"

"What, how close we were?' Harry snorted. "Big difference between you and my best friends, Malfoy; I actually _want_ my memories of them back. As far as I'm concerned, whatever memories we had together never existed." Malfoy drew in a shuddering breath, looking like he'd been punched in the gut.

"You don't mean that," he said in a small voice.

"I bloody well said what I bloody well meant, thank you very much, Malfoy."

"Harry-"

"Will you stop calling me that?" Harry snarled, losing his temper completely. He slammed his fist into the wall near Malfoy's head, and the other boy jumped and flinched back, up against the wall. Harry had a crazy, wil urge to snog him and it didn't make sense; it only served to make him angrier. He was in so much bloody pain, had been for a month and a half, and he needed an outlet. Malfoy was the perfect candidate. "I'm Potter to you; always have been and always will be. I don't like people I don't like calling me Harry." He drew a deep breath, wanting to scream some more but something about the way Malfoy looked, so small and scared and_ lost_ and utterly _beaten_, gave him pause. "Just go away and leave me alone, Malfoy." He spit the other boy's name and watched as his face twisted with pain. He sighed, his anger deflating. "I don't want to see you or talk to you or have anything to do with you. Got it?"

Malfoy nodded, eyes squeezed shut. He was an inch or two taller than Harry was but for some reason he looked so small, so shrunken into himself; sinking to the floor and putting his arms around his knees with his back against the wall, that Harry felt almost frightened. There was a voice in the back of his head asking him what he'd done; saying that just because he was hurting didn't give him the right to hurt Malfoy and he had gone too far, that he should apologize. That he'd seen enough in the Pensieve to know that Malfoy wasn't evil, and maybe Harry needed to give him a chance like he apparently had already done once before...

He told the voice to shut up.

He turned and walked away, trying to squelch the guilt that rose as he heard Malfoy's quiet sobs start behind him. Malfoy hadn't fought back. Harry had been cruel, and he hadn't even fought back. Harry didn't know what to think of that.

He wanted to just hate Malfoy and have that be it. He wanted to go back to a time when he could just hate Malfoy and play Quidditch and think about being with Ginny and how to defeat Voldemort. He barked out a bitter laugh when he realized he'd been thinking, _Back when it was easier_.

* * *

Harry gnawed on his bottom lip. "So, then, will you take her?" He was leaning against the mantel, one eye on the other room where two excited children played together. The room was bright and cheerful, with burgandy wallpaper and large windows. He always felt relaxed and at home in it.

"Certainly, Harry," Hermione said, smiling. "Hugo'll be thrilled. Ever since you went back to work we've hardly seen you two."

"You still haven't told me what your big secret errand is, yet, mate," Ron grinned good-naturedly. "Or why you can't just ask Luna to watch her."

"Luna babysits enough for me, covering the crazy hours I work," Harry put in. "She's gotta be able to go home to Neville sometime, what with summer break approaching."

"You still haven't told us..." Ron's smile faded. "Harry, you're not seeing someone, are you?"

Hermione elbowed him and shot him a look.

"What? It hasn't even been a year yet!" Ron protested, looking hurt. "Ginny was my sister..." his voice trailed off and he cleared his throat.

"No, Ron, I'm not seeing someone." _Just having dreams about Draco Bloody Malfoy every bleeding night, that's all._ Harry drew in a deep breath. "I'm going to see a highly skilled Legillimens about learning Occlumency. To get my memories back." _Maybe then the dreams will finally stop._

It wasn't that the dreams were sexual. They weren't, well; not _all_ of them. That was part of the problem. All these dreams of long talks and stolen kisses that were almost-chaste-but-not-quite, that left him with a burning desire to know _more_ about Malfoy, to know him inside out and aching to see him again. Dreans that left him with feelings he didn't know what to do with, feelings Malfoy would definitely not appreciate. After everything Malfoy had done for him, he had no right to feel the way he did, and no desire to lose the blond's friendship.

His friends sat in shock. When he'd asked them to babysit Lily once a week for three hours on his day off, that clearly was the last thing they had expected.

"No," said Ron. He shook his head, adamant. "You can't do that, Harry. It's been way too long. You really want to dredge up and relive all that horror right now, when your kids need you?"

"Ron has a point, Harry."

"That's why I'm going to be gone for three hours at a time, an hour and a half of Occlumency, and an hour with a mind healer afterwards."

_Hermione_ nodded, seeing the sense in the plan. "Hopefully you find what you're looking for, then."

Ron was less easily placated. He jumped around with nervous agitation. "Harry, why on earth would you do this? What's the bloody point?"

"Nightmares."

That one word was enough. They both knew the horror that had stalked Harry for years after the accident, in his sleep. In his sleep where he would relive every horrible event over and over and for the first several months would wake unable to remember any specific details. That scenario gave way to memories of the worst of the horrors staying with him when he woke once his short-term memory improved. If Harry was having nightmares again, who were they to stop him from trying to salvage his sanity?

Hermione put her arms around him. "I'm sorry, Harry." He nodded.

"Thanks, 'Mione."

Ron deflated. "We'll help ya out, mate." The words came reluctantly.

There was a shriek from the other room and both Harry and Hermione moved towards it. Hermione shoved Harry back. "Oh no, Mr. Single Dad, you just relax and take a break. I'll deal with it." He grinned. She left the room, demanding to know who hurt who and why.

Ron shuffled from one foot to the other. Harry lifted a brow. "Need the loo?"

Ron shook his head and stood still, looking awkward. He opened and closed his mouth several times in succession.

"What is it?" Harry couldn't help being amused. "You look like a carp."

"Sod off," grumbled Ron. He hesitated, and Harry could have sworn he saw fear flicker in his friend's eyes.

"Harry, about your memories..."

Harry nodded, not sure where this was going.

"Haven't you been happy without them, all this time?"

Harry started. "I suppose..." he said, cautiously.

"I lied to you about something important." Harry blinked. Not what he'd been expecting. Ron hurriedly continued. "Not important now, but it was at the time... you never found out. And when you remember, you'll probably be mad at me. I'd like you to remember you were happy anyway, that I didn't wreck your life."

"Oh-kay..." Harry was confused. "What was it about?"

Ron shook his head. "You might not even remember it. But..." his voice trailed off. "I wasn't the only one who lied to you."

After this cryptic announcement, Ron fell silent and refused to say anything more. Harry was still struggling to think of what his friend could possibly be hiding from him when he and Lily flooed home an hour later. He'd needed a distraction from thinking about Malfoy, who was busy these days finalizing his father's appeal to the parole board for his upcoming twenty-year review. He and Harry didn't see each other every day anymore, because of that and Harry's work schedule, and it was driving him crazy. He thought about Malfoy all the time and at inappropriate times and sometimes in inappropriate ways.

_Fucking dreams_, Harry thought. The sooner he could resolve the dreams, the sooner he could resolve the budding feelings he was developing for Malfoy, and go back to enjoying the other man's friendship. _And_, his brain supplied unhelpfully, _you'll get to know more about Malfoy, because you'll remember how you and Malfoy became friends in the first place, and your whole friendship with him from eighth year_.

Harry asked Malfoy about their teenage friendship, once. Malfoy's face abruptly closed in a mask and he sneered at Harry. "Potter," he all but snarled. "Drop it." Harry tried to object that it was his past, and he felt he had a right to know about it, but Malfoy cut him off with an upraised hand. "Potter," he said. "If you want my friendship, I have one condition. Never - and I do mean never - mention the eighth year at Hogwarts to me again."

When Harry tried to argue further he got up and left, and didn't respond to Harry's floo calls or owls for the next several days. It wasn't until Harry sent him an owl with a carefully worded apology and a promise not to bring up the past again that Malfoy resumed speaking to him.

So they never spoke of it. And Harry continued to wonder, and to dream.

* * *

Narcissa glanced at her son from across the table. He was frowning, his head bent over the mass of paperwork spread out in front of him. He ran a hand through his thinning blond hair, absently, and just as absently smoothed it down and fixed it. She smiled.

Her smile faded, and she looked back down at her own spread of paperwork. Draco had been moody and depressed lately, coming alive only during his brief interactions with Harry Potter, which were less and less frequent as Lucius' appeal date approached. He threw himself wholly into preparing for the appeal, working tirelessly to present the best possible justification for Lucius' freedom. She had mentioned to him once that he ought to ask Harry about putting in a word for Lucius, and he'd not only shot the idea down but had been outright rude about it. He claimed it would be taking advantage of their friendship, that Potter couldn't remember anything that would help Lucius anyway, and demanded that she leave it alone.

She in turn had demanded to know why he would think Harry couldn't remember anything that could help Lucius, and he had told her about Harry's memory loss in eighth year. It left her shocked and explained many old mysteries about her son to her. She would never forget that Christmas when he returned home, happier then she had ever seen him, his happiness gradually fading as he wrote owl after unanswered owl. By the time he had returned to Hogwarts, he had been nervous, worried and distraught, eyes ringed with dark circles that told of many sleepless nights. Never once did he speak to her of his problems or answer any of her probing questions. She had long suspected it had to do with Harry, judging by the way the friendship she'd watched them develop over the course of the trials had seemingly vanished after their eighth year. For it to have ended the way it did explained a lot, though not everything.

By the time that Draco finished his eighth year, he had changed. He was quieter, carrying around a constant air of sadness. There was something lost about him, something untouchable that made her heart ache. His usual sharp wit had dulled, and he was almost soft-spoken. He was but a shell of the boy he once had been. He was cold and unresponsive; untouchable and unshakable. Nothing she said or did could affect him, not even the marriage she arranged for him out of desperation.

He withdrew from the friends he had and never made new ones. Oh, he interacted as expected of a pureblood with the perfect mask at parties, in company; but there was nothing more to it. It was as if he had become the mask.

Scorpius saved him.

When he first held his son, he appeared alive for the first time in years. His eyes shone with a light that hadn't been there since that last Christmas, and he held himself differently. Only his son could break through whatever barriers he'd erected around his heart, and make him whole.

When Astoria killed herself, her family had tried to take Scorpius from him. He'd fought tooth and nail to keep the boy, and almost lost. When they pointed out how much of his time was taken up with his job, he had resigned the following day, and when asked about it in court had simply said, "I will do anything for my son. My job is an immaterial price to pay to allow me to meet his needs. He is my life, and there is nothing I would not do for him."

Narcissa privately thought that it was this impressive and unexpected display of emotion that had convinced the court to rule in his favour. There had been no doubt it was authentic; the slight tremor in his voice and the desperate light in his eyes had them hooked.

She was interrupted from her reverie by the sound of papers rustling.

She glanced up at Draco again. He had his eyes closed, and was massaging his temple with his thumb while his forefingers rested on his brow. He let out a sigh.

She hesitated. She knew what would make him feel better, but she was loathe to suggest it. Everything she had seen indicated to her that her son was rapidly becoming just as obsessed with Harry now as he had been before that disastrous eighth year. Just as smitten. Merlin knew, she didn't want him hurt again.

But on the other hand, she now knew that Harry had done nothing to hurt her son intentionally, and was unlikely to have another such injury and subsequent loss of memory occur. Whether or not her son being smitten with him would lead to his being hurt by him was another matter, but one that would likely occur regardless of what steps she did or did not take.

"Why don't you take a break?" she forced her voice to be light, casual. He glanced up at her, surprised. She shrugged. "I have things covered for now. You could go grab a cup of tea with your friend, Harry. It'll give you a chance to regroup before coming back and pouring over paperwork some more."

She saw the desire flame in his eyes, watched him struggle, torn between what he wanted and what he felt he ought to do. She moved to solve that dilemma for him. "You've got a headache, and you might make a mistake if you keep going without stopping to do something pleasant to take your mind off of things for a while. It'll be better for everyone if you do. You'll accomplish a lot more that way when you get back."

He hesitated some more, not quite convinced. She shook her head at him. "Draco," she said firmly. "Go. Get out of here and clear your head. Come back when you'll be of some use to me."

He nodded. "Thank you, Mother; you're right, of course." He stood. "I'll be back in about two hours, is that alright?" Pleading with his eyes for her to say it was. She nodded.

"Of course."

He left the room, heading to the floo in the sitting room. She sighed and closed her eyes, rubbing her own temple. She waited until she heard the floo roar, and the muffled shout of "Number 12, Grimmauld Place!" before opening her eyes again.

Then, having taken care of her son, she went back to work taking care of her husband.

* * *

"Well you'd understand it if you weren't such a prat."

"Just because I disagree with automatically classifying a wizard who owns dark artifacts or reads dark books as a dark wizard doesn't make me a prat, Potter."

"I didn't say that. I just said that those are _marks_ of a dark wizard; identifiers. I know there's more to it than that, Malfoy, or I'd have arrested you by now."

"Why Potter, I didn't know you cared."

Potter huffed and Draco smiled. It had been a good idea to come take tea with Potter this weekend. He would have to thank his mother for urging him to go. He and Potter were in the midst of a spirited debate on the legality and ethicality of owning and using dark artifacts and books. Lily was playing nearby, happy to be within sight of her angel, as she insisted on calling him.

Life was good.

Lily appeared abruptly and tugged on Potter's sleeve. "Daddy, I'm hungry." Potter cast a quick _Tempus_ and checked the time.

"Not quite supper yet, Lils."

Draco started. He had been there much longer than he'd intended; almost double the time. He and Potter had been so engrossed in their conversation that he hadn't noticed. He cursed himself.

"Potter, I'm afraid I have to go. I never meant to stay this long, but it appears that I've lost track of time. I have to continue with my father's appeal. But I would love to continue another time; perhaps your next day off, same time?"

Potter shook his head, apologetic. "Actually I have an appointment."

"Alright then," Draco felt a stab of regret. "Perhaps later?"

"I actually have two appointments; it'll take about three hours altogether. After that I'm staying for dinner at 'Mione and Ron's, when I go back to pick up Lily." He smiled. "But I'm free in the morning, if you feel like getting brunch." His tone was light, almost playful.

Draco's heart soared. It felt almost like Potter was asking him on a date. He tried to quell the part of his mind that suggested that, reminding himself that this was just brunch, just friends, and that he himself had done the asking first, but it persisted in making him feel like a giddy schoolgirl. "Sounds good to me." He was proud of himself. His voice didn't shake at all.

Potter nodded. "Okay." He hesitated. "Is there anything I can do, Malfoy?"

Draco cocked his head to the side, puzzled. "Beg pardon?"

"With your father. Is there any way I could help?"

Draco stared. Potter cleared his throat and looked away. Draco opened his mouth and closed it again.

"I don't know," he answered truthfully. "There wouldn't be much that you could do aside from giving a character reference, or reiterating the defense you originally gave of my father indicating what you'd seen through your connection to Voldemort, proving that he had fallen from favour and was acting primarily through the desire to protect his family. And you don't remember any of that."

"Actually, I do."

Draco started again, violently. "Your memories came back?"

"No," Potter admitted. "Remember I told you once that I could remember things through viewing others' Pensieve memories?" They both flinched a little at the memory of how he had told Draco. He continued, hurriedly. "Well when I found out that I had defended you guys at the trial I wanted to watch the memories of the trial. And when I found out that my own memories had been admitted as evidence, I arranged to watch those as well. So I saw the memories of your father that I showed the court."

Draco shook his head in wonder. "I can't believe it."

"I know it's not much," Potter added. "But even after twenty years the word of the Boy Who Lived still means something. Hopefully it helps."

Draco smiled, a genuine smile full of warmth. "It does, and it will. Thanks, Potter."

"No problem." He chewed his lip, looking like he wanted to say something. Draco tried not to be distracted by the action and the thoughts it invoked. "Thank you," he blurted. Draco blinked.

"What for?" He felt mildly astonished.

"For saving me. In the manor. Back with the snatchers."

Draco reeled. He had forgotten, after he effectively put all his memories of Potter behind him; locked them away and threw away the key. He hadn't expected this. "You thanked me once before," he replied, feeling a trifle lost. "Anything else you want to tell me you remember?" He kept his tone light, willing the nervous butterflies in his stomach to go away. None of the other memories he and Potter shared had been put into a Pensieve. Nothing else would have come to light.

Potter shook his head. "No," he said. "Not yet," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Draco blinked again. "What do you mean, 'Not yet'?" he asked. Something in the way Potter said it alarmed him.

"You know that appointment I mentioned?" Potter said, shifting uncomfortably. "I'm meeting a Legillimens, learning Occlumency. The second appointment is with a mind healer to deal with any memories I recover."

Draco stared. "You said it was permanent." His voice came out in a whisper.

Potter shifted. "I was told at the time that there was nothing, magical or muggle, that they could do for me; but that a skilled Legillimens and some proficiency in Occlumency might help me recover some memories. Maybe even all of them. I gave up at the time because I didn't want to relive everything I was told about, that had happened, and because I'm afraid of Legillimancy, thanks to Snape. And I'm pants at Occlumency. But they told me it could work and I never tried it."

Draco felt himself shaking, felt the blood drain from his face. "Why?" It was the only word he could manage. Oh, there were so many "why's" he had for Potter; why lie to him then, why try to remember now?

In that special way they had, Potter understood his unasked questions. "I lied to you because I didn't think it would matter. I didn't think you needed to know. And I'm trying to remember now because I've been having these dreams."

"Dreams," repeated Draco stupidly. Potter blushed prettily, inexplicably.

"I had them years ago," he explained. "They're like memories, only most of them aren't real. For years after the accident I would have screaming nightmares about my past, and half the stuff I dreamed about never happened." He sighed. "For the last several months I've been having dreams that feel like reliving memories again, and I want them to stop. I think remembering might end them."

Draco nodded, numbly. "I have to go," he managed.

Potter nodded. "You mentioned. Sorry to take your time."

"Think nothing of it. It was a pleasure."

Draco turned and grabbed a handful of Floo Powder from a dish on the mantel. He tossed the Floo powder into the fire. "Malfoy Manor!" he called, and stepped in. He vanished in a flash of green.

Draco stepped out of the flames in Malfoy Manor. He immediately sank to the ground and put his head in his hands. His shoulders shook.

Potter was going to remember. _Might_, his subconscious reminded him. _Might remember. That doesn't mean he will. And he did say he was a crap Occlumens._ But still his shoulders shook and he stayed squat on the ground without the strength to stand. Potter might remember. Them. He might remember them. Harry and Draco.

What would happen if he did?

Draco wasn't stupid. It had been twenty years. Potter had married and had a full life in that time. It wasn't like they could or would pick up where they'd left off.

But if he remembered, what then?

Would it end their newfound friendship?

Would Draco lose him all over again?

It could happen. He knew it could. After all, maybe this was all he deserved.

* * *

**A/N: **I know, so far I've been horrible to Draco in this fic. I get nicer later, I swear. He's my favourite HP character.

Which brings me to today's question: who's your favourite HP character, and why?

I love Draco because he's snarky, and a bit of a bad boy - but underneath it all is a sensitive little boy who got rejected on a train and never really got over it. My $0.02.


	9. Chapter 9 - I Won't Be Satisfied

**Chapter Nine:** I Won't Be Satisfied

**Disclaimer: **J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, and everything associated with it. I own my computer, and an office chair. And my brain, but that's on credit.

**Warnings: **Language, and slight slash. Mentions of het sex. Nothing really smutty there; who wants to read that? We're here for the boy love.

**A/N:** This chapter contains some Draco/Astoria. It gives us the background on them, and gets into Draco's current emotions and motivations in depth. I wouldn't have included it if I hadn't felt it was necessary to the story. This is where we really get into the guilt Draco's dealing with.

**There's an open call for suggestions about a special prank at the end of the chapter. **

Also, there's a bit of dialogue lifted directly - quoted; I prefer to say quoted - from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. You'll understand why it's necessary when you read it.

_And_ I wanted to say that this fic is probably only going to be about 15 or so chapters total. I didn't even plan on making it that long when I started it, but it grew on me a little. It may grow again, but I will continue to update it regularly until it is done. It depends on how much the characters and plot want me to develop them in this fic as I write it.

Special thanks to **halvwyn**, **Gingerchild**, **Daddy's crazy little bitch**, **Julkula**, **Day Met the Night**, **Lissah**, **Buford**, **harrytwifan**, **jansis101**, and** WammygirlZ** for reviewing! It means a lot to me! Please review, as it keeps me wanting to write! I reply to reviews! Thanks especially to those who reviewed multiple chapters!

* * *

Stop right there  
I've got a hole inside my chest  
And 'til it fills up  
I won't be satisfied

Look How Far We've Come - Imagine Dragons

* * *

"Let's try out for Quidditch next year."

Scorpius looked in surprise at his best friend. Al's jaw was set, his face determined. He carefully kept the excitement from his own face and voice. "I thought you didn't want anything to do with Quidditch anymore."

"Yeah, well," Al shifted. "That was before." He stayed silent a moment, while Scorpius struggled to understand what "before" meant.

Al looked over at his friend. "I think Mom would've been happy if I became a Chaser like her." He shrugged. "It seems like a better way to remember her than ignoring something that I love and she loved. Yeah, she died playing Quidditch, and it was stupid, but she died doing something she loved. And I don't think pretending Quidditch doesn't exist would be what she'd want. I think she'd be proud of me if I played. I know Dad would. "

He shot Scorpius a lopsided grin. "And Merlin knows, your dad'll have kittens if you become a Seeker like him! Remember how he sent your broom out as soon as he got your owl? I bet he was real excited you were gonna try out for the team." He frowned. "When they choose you – cause you're a top-notch Seeker; don't look at me like that, they will – you'd better play even if I don't make it. I'll go to your games and cheer you on, okay? I'm real glad that you decided not to try out this year – I know I'm being selfish; don't look at me like that, I am – because I don't think I could have handled it if you were always going off to practice and playing games and I know I couldn't have supported you like a friend should, but I don't want you giving it up again because of me. That's not fair, and it's not right. You deserve to play Quidditch if it makes you happy, and you can't tell me it doesn't make you happy, cause you already told me it does back before… well, before everything happened."

Scorpius smiled back at his friend, feeling the warmth steal through his heart. "You'll make Chaser," he assured Al. "They'd be crazy not to take you."

They talked for a while about their prospective Quidditch triumphs, and dreamed of future glory. Scorpius had no idea when his friend had become okay with Quidditch again, but he was glad that Al's inability to think about Quidditch hadn't been permanent. He'd _missed_ Quidditch, and it had hurt more than he cared to admit to give up the tryouts. But it had been worth it for his friend, and he'd gladly do it again. He was just glad that it wasn't necessary.

"This summer, we can have Quidditch matches and practice," Al went on, excitedly. "You can come over and play with me, James, Lily, and some of my cousins and their friends. We'll have enough for a team if Rose, Hugo, Roxanne, Freddie, and some of the kids that live near the Burrow all get together. It'll be great!"

"The Burrow?"

"Grandma and Grandpa Weasley's house. It's where we go to play Quidditch," Al explained. "That's the only thing I don't like about my house; you can't play Quidditch in the yard at Grimmauld Place. Too many muggles around." He sighed dramatically.

"Oh," said Scorpius. They hadn't ventured outside during his visit over Christmas break, and he'd travelled there by Floo, so he'd been unaware that his friend lived near muggles. He was surprised. "I thought I heard my dad say it was the ancestral home of the Blacks. My grandmother's a Black," he added as an afterthought.

"Oh, it is," Al agreed. "Sirius Black was Dad's godfather, and he left him that house in his will. Though, my Mum and Dad said they had to redectorate the whole thing to make it suitable to live in."

Scorpius hid a smile, not bothering to correct his friend. "So your dad and my dad really must have been friends when they were kids," he mused. "Seeing as Grandmother's cousin was his godfather, and all."

"Nope," Al said blithely. "I heard they hated each other. Uncle Ron said your dad was an evil git."

Fury dropped through the pit of Scorpius' stomach like a stone. He balled his fists and clenched his teeth. "Take that back!" he hissed. "You take that back, Albus Severus Potter! My dad is _not_ an evil git, and don't you dare say he is!"

Al blinked at him. "I didn't say is; I said _was_. Anyway, I didn't even say it; Uncle Ron did. And he probably wasn't even serious," he added quickly, realizing that his friend was really upset. "Anyway; I like your dad. He was real nice over Christmas break. I wouldn't say anything bad about him."

"You'd better not," Scorpius shot back, still feeling injured. How could anyone say something like that about his dad? His dad was the greatest man he knew.

"Anyway," Al changed the subject quickly. "Did I ever tell you about my Uncle Fred and Uncle George?"

Scorpius shook his head, thrown off-kilter slightly by the change in topic.

"Well, technically I only have an Uncle George now, cause Uncle Fred died in the War, during the Hogwarts Battle. But they were twins, who started Weasley's Wizard Wheezes together – with some help from my dad – and they were these great pranksters. Uncle George still is." His eyes gleamed. "They set up a Portable Swamp in the middle of the hall the year they left Hogwarts, and it took _ages_ to get it off. Earlier in the year they set off a _whole crate_ of Weasley's Wildfire Whiz-Bangs, right in the middle of the castle, and they went off everywhere in the castle, and they lasted all day!"

"Oh!" squeaked Scorpius. He wasn't sure what Al had in mind, bringing up his uncles and their exploits, but he had a feeling it was going to violate his father's command to, "_Be good. Obey your Head of House, your professors, and the Headmistress_." He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

On the one hand, it sounded terribly exciting. On the other hand, he knew he'd escaped his father expressing a great deal of disappointment over his game of Quidditch that he'd played with Al simply by virtue of having been injured, and because Al's mom had died that day. He didn't like to think of his father being disappointed in him over a stunt like one of the ones the Weasley twins had performed. His desire not to disappoint his father warred with his sense of adventure, and lost.

"What did you have in mind?" he asked breathlessly.

"Who says I had something in mind?" Al asked innocently. Scorpius rolled his eyes.

"Oh, please, Al. I know you."

Al chuckled. "Well, Scorp, I was thinking that maybe we could do a little something in the spirit of Uncle Fred and Uncle George," he admitted. "You've gotta agree, those pranks would have been _brilliant_." He conveniently forgot to mention that during the year his uncles had committed said pranks, Hogwarts was under the control of an evil tyrant. Scorpius, having never heard the story of how the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes had come about, was none the wiser.

"Like what?" he asked, his excitement growing.

"Not sure just yet," confessed Al. "But we'll think of something. I figured you might like to help plan it, since it'll be our big debut. Unless our Quidditch game counts as our big debut," he added thoughtfully. "It could."

"I dunno, Al," Scorpius frowned. "I don't really want to get into trouble for the sake of getting into trouble."

"Who said anything about getting into trouble?" demanded Al. "Did we, or did we not sort Slytherin?" At Scorpius' blank look he added impatiently, "First we figure out what we want to do, _then_ we figure out how to do it so we don't get caught."

Scorpius gave him an evil grin. "Told ya you sorted right," he cackled.

Al scowled at him and tried to swat him. "Prat!"

Scorpius laughed and danced out of his way.

* * *

The cottage was the least likely looking property to belong to a Malfoy; far from regal, it was positively _quaint_. From the wood panelled front jutted a large circular bay window, surrounded by wooden petals, which fanned out to the edges of the admittedly tiny single-storied structure. The window itself was made up of small shards of glass cut into the shape of seeds, giving it the effect of a large sunflower stretching across the front wall. It was positively charming, and Draco hated it.

Hated it, but bought it anyway, because Astoria would love it and he wanted – no, needed – to make her happy. Sunflowers were, mysteriously enough, her favourite flowers, and he'd thought of her the moment he saw it. It was worth all the galleons he'd spent on that overpriced piece of kitsch to see her face light up in the first genuine smile she'd worn in months.

"Oh, Dray," she whispered the pet name he hated and she thought was cute. Malfoys didn't do pet names, or cute. Never mind that Potter had called him "Drake" once during those first glorious days of that long ago Christmas break when they were "Harry" and "Draco" and he hadn't minded _that_; that was different, and no, best not to think of that.

However there was so little that she wanted from him that he could actually give her that he felt obligated to keep his mouth shut about how much he hated being called "Dray". (_Rhymes with bray_, he thought morosely.)

But if Astoria could come to terms with being married to a man who would never love her the way she wanted, he could damn well come to terms with being called "Dray" for the rest of his natural born life.

"Oh, Dray," she whispered, one fluttering hand coming to rest over her heart and the other on her stomach. "It's lovely."

No, it was kitsch. _She_ was lovely. She was a petite girl with long, flowing blonde hair, pale skin, ruby lips and dainty features, slender and lithe but for the round beach-ball-like belly that held their soon-to-be-born child. Graceful and elegant, when she moved it was like a dance and her voice was as rich as chocolate and as soft as velvet. Sweet, good-natured, and kind-hearted, she was exquisite and Draco knew it. It made him utterly wretched that he was incapable of appreciating it the way that any other man would – any other _straight_ man.

And she needed to be appreciated; needed it because she was not vain, as he was, and had no idea how truly beautiful she was. That was part of her charm; how completely unassuming she was, despite her natural beauty. She had her pride, but it was a pureblood pride in her family name and heritage that did not automatically generate confidence in her other attributes the way Draco's did in his own.

That lack of self-confidence was the only fault he could find with an otherwise flawless wife. He was the envy of all the other pureblood males he knew, and how his mother had procured such a match for him so soon after the war, he had no idea.

Rather, he'd had no idea; until the day she confided in him that _she_ had chosen _him_. "I knew I was going to marry you the first time I saw you," she'd said, laughing. "You were so _proud_; so confident. So beautiful, yet so masculine and I knew even as a first year that you were the only man for me." He didn't know exactly what it was that had given her that impression; he didn't recall being particularly masculine in third year (there was that embarrassing fiasco with the hippogriff to think of, and he cringed whenever he did) but she had nevertheless somehow gotten it into her head that he was, and had wanted him from that day forward.

Her family had been less than enthusiastic about the idea of their little angel marrying a former Death Eater, acquitted or not, but as the baby of the family she was used to getting what she wanted and she continued to chase away eligible suitor after eligible suitor until she had finally worn them down. Daddy's little girl finally got what she wanted; with a few well-placed hints from Mrs. Greengrass Narcissa had decided that a marriage was just the distraction her little dragon needed, and the match was arranged.

Draco was of course, dismayed. He'd agreed to the marriage precisely because it was arranged, and he would therefore not be expected to love his bride; freeing him from any ethical dilemmas he may have faced otherwise while still providing him with an opportunity to rebuild the family name and produce an heir. Pansy had tried to warn him that marriage was not a good idea for a gay man, but he hadn't listened. Too late he learned that Astoria loved him, and fully expected that in time, he would come to love her in return.

He hesitated to disabuse her of that notion, because she was so very attached to him that it seemed cruel to do so, but when he found her crying because she believed herself to be undesirable due to his complete lack of interest in sex once their son had been conceived, he had been forced to gently break the news to her that he was gay.

She hadn't taken it well; despite his explanation that he'd never expected her to love him and had not intended to hurt her, she was as heartbroken as if he had, and despite his assurances that she was in fact a very desirable young woman and he would certainly have been smitten were he straight, she continued to alternate between blaming her own perceived flaws and lack of desirableness for his lack of interest and between naively, earnestly hoping that he would come around. He had informed her that he would not cheat on her, but he would understand if she chose to take a lover; provided she was careful to take the necessary potions so as not to fall pregnant with another man's child, and he assured her that she would not find herself lacking for eager candidates – he even gave her the option of a divorce, should she so choose. She had in turn vehemently insisted that he was the only man she would ever want.

She would, from time to time, attempt to seduce him and her disappointment was always crushing and all-consuming when it inevitably failed. She no doubt viewed the fact that they had had sex in the past as proof that it was possible for him to be aroused by her and to desire her, and he didn't have the heart to tell her the truth. The truth being that he had slept with her only because he had not known of her feelings for him, had done so purely out of the desire to produce an heir, and after a few failed attempts had succeeded in getting it up and keeping it up long enough to do so only by closing his eyes and picturing Harry, warm and writhing beneath him, rather than his blushing bride.

The past few months since the confession of his sexuality had been a nightmare for them both, and he had gone to great lengths to try to make her happy in spite of everything. It seemed that this cottage had been the right idea; she was positively glowing.

"I'm glad you like it," he smiled at her fondly – he did care for her, if not in the way she wished him to, and he wanted her to be happy. "It's yours."

"Oh, _Dray_!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him. He started, but she seemed not to notice. She pulled back, blushing prettily, looking demurely at the ground. "It's perfect!" She looked up at him shyly, her face alight with hope. "I love you, Dray," she said, softly.

He shifted uncomfortably, and her face fell. _Bloody hell_, he thought, dismally. He hadn't meant to give her the wrong idea. He'd just wanted to make her smile again, for Merlin's sake. He was keenly aware of what a horrible failure he was as a husband, and it made him angry. Whether to be angry with her or himself, he didn't know. All he knew was that it was a miserable, uncomfortable situation and there seemed to be absolutely nothing he could do to make it better.

"Astoria…" he started.

"Don't, Draco." Her voice was laced with pain. "I get it. I just got carried away. Merlin save me, I thought for a moment that you _cared_." There was an edge of bitterness to the last word.

"I do care, Astoria!" He lost his temper. "I _do_ care about you – you have no idea how hard I've been trying to make you happy, or how many hours and galleons it took to find and buy this place – but I'm gay, and _that's not going to change_!" He caught his breath; he hadn't meant to yell at her, and now he could see the tears in her eyes. "Merlin, Astoria; I want to make you happy, but I'm not going to lie to you."

"Why not?" she burst out. "If you're not going to cheat on me, then what harm would it do just to _pretend _to love me? That's all I want, Draco, just let me pretend! Let me have my fantasy!" Now the tears were falling in earnest. "I want the man I love to love me; even if it's a nothing but a lie!"

Draco was dismayed. Lying seemed more cruel than anything else, but she claimed to want it. And it wouldn't be an outright lie to say that he loved her; he did love her, just not romantically. Yet if he gave her that much of her fantasy, soon she would expect more from him. He was sure of it. In the end, lying to her would no doubt be the cruelest thing he could do.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I can't."

"Can't, or won't, Draco?" she challenged. "Merlin, you're selfish." The tears had stopped, replaced by a bitter, angry expression that looked out of place on her pretty face.

That was part of it. Even if he could somehow keep her happy by lying, he couldn't bring himself to do so. There was only one person he'd ever loved romantically; only one person he'd ever said those words to. Only one person those words _belonged_ to, and he couldn't bring himself to give them away to anyone else, for any reason, at any cost. Maybe he _was_ being selfish; but he wouldn't do it, no matter what.

He closed his eyes and sighed, not knowing what to say. When he opened his eyes again, she had moved away from him, heading towards the house.

"Come on, Dray," she said with forced cheerfulness. "I want to see the rest of my new house." She had that plastic smile on, the one that said "I'm-alright-but-not-really" that she'd worn for the past few months. The one that he hated.

He resigned himself to looking at that smile for the rest of his life, forced one that matched it onto his own face, and followed her.

* * *

Draco woke with a start. He'd been sitting up, staring into the fire, brooding on the possibility of losing Potter's friendship – which was all he wanted; he had no right to hope for or even desire anything more than that – and truth be told he didn't even deserve that much. He already had Scorpius, which was far, far more than he deserved.

He'd fallen asleep in one of the large, comfortable wing chairs in the sitting room. He glanced around at the décor done in tasteful greys, creamy whites, and muted blues. He shivered despite the fire and the time of year. He'd dreamed of Astoria again.

Her ghost haunted his subconscious more than he cared to admit. That was the real reason he stayed single – ostensibly he told himself that it was because his preferences were unknown and he had no wish to give the Greengrasses any more ammunition to use against him to try and take away Scorpius; but things were amicable enough between them now, as he had always been more generous and co-operative about allowing them to spend time with their grandson than one might think considering how they had taken him to court and dredged up his Death Eater past following Astoria's death. He was eternally grateful that Astoria had not seen fit to inform anyone of his preferences before killing herself; while the wizarding world was gradually beginning to accept varying sexualities, but it was still frowned upon as socially unacceptable and the long-standing prejudices might have preventing him from retaining custody of his son.

He'd heard that the muggle world was more open and accepting of such things but had had neither time nor opportunity to test that out. He believed it, though; the wizarding world was one steeped in tradition, far more so than the muggle one. Potter had apparently had no trouble picking up a man in a muggle bar before even becoming aware of his own sexuality – a thought that rankled, though Draco did his best to squash it.

How could he even contemplate finding new love when Astoria's ghost was always there to remind him that he didn't deserve it? If indeed it were even possible for Draco to find new love, which he doubted. After all, he was still as in love with Potter as he had been twenty years ago when they had oh-so-briefly become "Harry" and "Draco" to one another; as, in fact, he had been since he was eleven years old, trying desperately to impress the green-eyed, scruffy-haired, speccy ragamuffin being fitted for robes next to him in Madam Malkin's, who was inexplicably the most interesting and adorable boy he had ever seen.

How excited he was when he realized that that boy was Harry Potter – _the_ Harry Potter! How hurt he was when the little git rejected his proffered hand and the friendship that went along with it! His too-brief fantasies of leading the other boy around Hogwarts and teaching him everything, becoming best friends decked in Slytherin green were shattered. His delight gave way to cold fury, birthing an obsession that had lasted nearly twenty-seven years and counting.

Draco didn't see how he could possibly love anyone else, even if he weren't a murderer. And that's what he was; a murderer. He'd killed Astoria, as surely as if he'd held a wand to her head and said, "_Avada Kedavra_!" He might not have been there when she'd jumped from the cliff, but he might as well have pushed her.

She had been a sweet, beautiful, good-hearted girl who loved him passionately, and his selfishness had made her life so unbearable she had chosen to end it rather than stay with him.

No, Draco did not deserve love, new or old.

_What can I do to make you love me? Anything – I'll do anything!_

He closed his eyes against her voice and rubbed his temples. He should go back to sleep. Scorpius was due home in a week, and if his sleep cycle got too disturbed it would likely remain so until his son got back, and wouldn't _that_ be fun. Even if it didn't, Merlin knew his mother had enough to worry about without seeing the circles under his eyes that came from a night without sleep.

But Astoria's voice continued to echo through his mind–

_Can't or won't, Draco? Merlin, you're selfish!_

And before he knew it he was on his feet, making his way to the liquor cabinet. He withdrew a large bottle of firewhiskey and a glass, poured himself a generous tumblerful, and knocked back a sizable swallow of the burning liquid, all but gulping it down. Not quite, because Malfoys did not _gulp_; but close enough that he choked, coughed, and his eyes watered.

He cleared his throat and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Then he topped up his glass and went back to his chair, bringing the bottle with him.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

_Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived!_

Green light.

Blackness.

_You cannot help._

_But you're dead._

_Oh yes._

_Then… I'm dead too?_

_Ah, that is the question, isn't it? On the whole, dear boy, I think not. _

_Not?_

_Not. _

_…._

_Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and above all, those who live without love. By returning, you may ensure that fewer souls are maimed, fewer families are torn apart. If that seems to you a worthy goal, then we say good-bye for the present._

_Tell me one last thing – is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head? _

_Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean it is not real?_

_…_

_The boy… Is he dead?_

_Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?_

_Yes._

_He is dead!_

Harry knelt on the floor, gasping for breath. A surge of triumph ran through him. Only a month of practice, and he had recovered a memory! He didn't know if the Legillimens he was working with was better than Snape had been, or if he simply wanted it more, but his Occlumency was coming along well enough for a mere month to have passed with such large progress already having been made.

Finally, he would have something to talk to that blasted mind-healer about besides Ginny's death and his friendship with, subsequent dreams about and confused feelings for Draco Malfoy. Not that the mind-healer didn't think those were worth talking about; in fact she was quite insistent on exploring them. Especially with the ongoing investigation into whether or not there had been foul play involved in Ginny's death.

Rather, how intentional the foul play behind Ginny's death had been; as everyone already knew that there had been foul play. Bludgers weren't supposed to kill people, and apparently it had not been enough that the damn thing had hit Ginny where it had; someone had tampered with it. The question was whether the intention behind the tampering had been simply been to disrupt the game, or if the goal was to kill someone, making it an act of terrorism rather than simple vandalism gone wrong. Of course, that wouldn't change the fact that someone had died, and once they found out who was responsible, appropriate charges would be filed; but the intent would definitely factor in.

The mind-healer seemed to think that this would make it especially hard for Harry to get over Ginny's death, whereas he simply didn't require a mind-healer's help to deal with it because he'd already ranted enough on the subject to Malfoy. And naturally, she had no small interest in the subject of Draco Malfoy, either.

Harry was torn between regretting the fact that he had allowed Malfoy's name to slip out when she had insisted on discussing Ginny's death in the absence of any recovered memories, and being grateful that he had _someone_ to speak to about him. Under the discretion of healer/patient confidentiality, he could finally open up about everything that was going on, and how confusing it was, to someone who wouldn't judge him – and wouldn't be shocked by it like Hermione would or be angry at him like Ron would. However, he was filled with exultation over having recovered a memory.

And what a memory!

He had died – died and gone… somewhere… (_King's Cross Station_, his mind whispered) and that had flowed into the memory he'd already viewed in the pensieve where Narcissa had saved him.

This was going to work. He was going to remember!

Finally, he could get rid of those dreams about Malfoy, and hopefully his growing feelings for his friend.

* * *

**A/N:** So I was reading this fic called "Obsessions" by Aima D. Duragon and she said the most beautiful thing about Harry beginning to notice how beautiful Draco was, and wondering how he'd never seen it before. She said, "...It was like not noticing the rose at the end of a thorny stalk." I thought that was a perfect description of Draco - "The rose at the end of a thorny stalk".

If you have a suggestion for the prank that Scorpius and Albus will pull before leaving Hogwarts, leave it in the comments. :) I have some ideas, but haven't decided yet, and I'm always open to suggestions. I may open a poll on the weekend; not sure yet.

And the question of the day is:

Are there songs that remind you of Harry Potter or Harry Potter characters?

Mine are:

For the series in general (particularly the later books/movies), "This is War" by 30 Seconds to Mars.

For Harry/Draco, "(I Hate) Everything About You" by 3 Days Grace, "Downfall" by Matchbox 20, "I'll Be" by Edwin McCain, and "Kryptonite" by 3 Doors Down.

For Draco during 6th year, "Numb" by Linkin Park and "The Show Must Go On" by Queen.

For this fic, from Draco's perspective of their Hogwarts years, "Breaking the Habit" by Linkin Park, for Draco on Harry forgetting, "Through With You" by Maroon 5.


	10. Chapter 10 - I Need A Minute

**Chapter Ten:**

**Disclaimer: **I own nozzing, nozzing, nozzing. Eet is not mine.

**Warnings: **Language, slight slash. AS in, some male/male action of the slightly hot variety.

**A/N:** Sorry this is out late! I had issues with first a computer shutdown that deleted a whole chapter, to getting sick, and everything I've written just took that much longer to finish. So, please don't hate me. We are drawing to a close - not too many chapters left! Special thanks to **Harrytwifan, Lissah, Daddy's crazy little bitch, slightlyanonymous, WammygirlZ, **and** Mayle **for reviewing. Special thanks to **Mayle** for the idea for the boy's prank - it was better than any of the ones I came up with! Remember, I reply to all reviews, and they encourage me to write!

* * *

I need a minute to get my head straight  
Just to hit it before it's too late  
In a sin, considering my middle name is 'shake my body'  
Take a seat it's glittering, I shake you in, I shake my body

I Need A Minute - Imagine Dragons

* * *

"What are we going to do?"

Ginny paced back and forth, her arms folded nervously across her chest. Her red hair fell in waves around her face, swaying with each hasty step she took. She shot a look at her brother, leaning back against the far wall, rubbing his temples with his forefingers.

"I dunno, Gin." He let out a breathy sigh and raked his fingers through his unruly red mop. "What _can_ we do?"

"We can tell him."

Ron snorted. "Right. Like that'll go over well. He _hates_ Malfoy."

"No, he doesn't. He just _thinks_ he hates him right now because he doesn't _know _any better." She ran her fingers through her hair. "You know how he really feels, Ron. So do I."

Ron shrugged. "He might have felt that way at one point but he doesn't now. And you know his memories aren't coming back. Even if we told him he probably wouldn't believe us, or if he did he still wouldn't want anything to do with the ferret. It would just make him miserable."

Ginny nodded, slowly. "What about how he thinks he feels about me?" Her voice trembled.

"Are you saying that you don't think what he's feeling now is real, Gin?"

"Of course it isn't! He's in love with Malfoy, for Merlin's sake!"

Ron shook his head slowly. "I don't think it works like that, Gin. He feels what he feels, and yes; a lot of what he feels comes from his memories and who they've made him up to this point; but does it make him any less of a person to have lost some memories? Any less real?"

"Of course not!" Ginny rolled her eyes. "That's not what I meant, and you know it, Ronald."

"Who he is now is not someone who's in love with Malfoy. Who he is now is someone who's in love with you. No," he put a hand up to stop her when she opened her mouth to respond. "He's not quite the same person he was before he lost his memories; how can he be? The Horcrux hunt, the war… he didn't live through any of it. He's almost untouched by it. He'll never be the person he was right before losing his memories, ever again. But he's the same person he was back in sixth year; the person who loved you and you loved him. Isn't that enough, Gin?"

Ginny's eyes shone with unshed tears. "It feels like you're just telling me this because this is what I want," she said softly. "Because you're my brother and you want me to be happy."

"Merlin, no, Gin!" He ran a hand through his hair. "Yes; you're my sister and I love you and want you to be happy, but Harry's my best mate! If I didn't think this was what's best for him, what'll make him happiest, I wouldn't be saying it. And who Harry is right now… hates Malfoy. Gin, he _hates_ him. It's eating him up to think that he was _friends_ with the ferret, let alone how he'd feel if he knew he'd been snogging him."

"So you really think it's for the best if we don't tell him?" Hope lit inside her eyes; she couldn't help it.

"I do, Gin." Ron shook his head. "I think it'd really hurt Harry if we told him the truth. And nobody would be happy about it – except that slimy git but who cares about him?" Ron's tone went from soothing to vicious at the end, and Ginny winced. She knew her brother was hardly unbiased. But still…

"What you're saying makes sense." She nodded. "So we're agreed, I guess. We don't tell Harry – or anyone, not even Hermione –" she gave her brother a pointed look, "About any of it."

"Agreed," Ron nodded. He reached out and hugged her. "We're doing the right thing."

"We're doing the right thing," she repeated, and closed her eyes.

* * *

Ron stared into the fire, lost in memories. He closed his eyes, frustration washing over him in a wave so strong it was palpable. He felt like a heel. As a teen he'd been so blinded by hatred he had made the choice to keep a huge secret from his friend – one he had no right to keep. The thought that things probably wouldn't have turned out any different if he had spilled the truth didn't help. It was the fact that he hadn't done so that made him ashamed. He couldn't even blame Ginny for their choice; it had been his words that convinced her.

"Ronald?"

He started. "Mione?"

"What are you doing up?" She eased herself onto the couch beside him, her troubled eyes taking in his haggard appearance. "What is it, love?"

He hesitated a moment, then decided to tell her. He spoke fitfully, in stops and starts, explaining both the revelation Harry had made to him and to Ginny – Hermione drew in her breath sharply but otherwise didn't react – and explaining his choice and the reasoning behind it.

"I really did believe that I was doing the right thing, Mione. I mean, on some level, I had to know it was wrong, or I wouldn't have kept it from you. But I swear that I thought it was the best thing to do, even if it was wrong." He stared at the floor, miserable.

"I see." Her voice was clipped. Hermione felt angry, disappointed, and most of all, deeply sorry for Harry – and a little bit for Ron. She wondered how he'd managed to carry such a burden for so long. "So what changed?"

"Harry's going to get his memories back. He already remembered dying in the Forbidden Forest at his last session. His memories are going to come back, Mione, and he's going to be livid with me." Ron left the deepest worry unspoken; _What if he never forgives me?_

"He's Harry," she answered him, knowing him well enough to divine his thoughts in a way that had little to do with divination. "He'll forgive you, because that's what he does. He'll be angry with you – as he should be, just like I am – but he'll forgive you."

He drew in a shaky breath. "You think?"

"I do." She studied him for a moment. "I'm very disappointed in you, Ronald Weasley. But I understand that you made this choice years ago, and there's not much you can do to change it now." Her voice softened. "I wish you had told me."

"So do I, Mione; so do I." He stared at his feet and she reached over and put her arms around him, pulling him close. She stretched herself up and kissed the top of his head.

"I love you, Ronald Weasley, even if you are a fool."

"I don't deserve you."

"No, you don't," she grinned at the top of his head. He caught her playful tone, and smiled. It was going to be alright.

* * *

Scorpius eyed Al warily as they tiptoed out into the Slytherin Dungeon. He paused by the passage into the stone wall, and Scorpius followed suit. Both were laden down with bags filled with tiny bundles. Al pulled a piece of parchment out of his cloak and tapped it with his wand.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!"

The parchment sprang to life, revealing a detailed Map of Hogwarts. Scorpius gaped at it, staring as he recognized the dots labeled with their names in the Slytherin Dungeon. "Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present The Marauder's Map" it read. Al grinned manically.

"It shows the location of everyone in Hogwarts; where they are at all times, and it even shows secret passageways into Hogsmeade!"

"What… how?"

"Cool, isn't it? I nicked it from James. He nicked it from Dad's desk his first year. Made the mistake of showing me, and I knew I was going to get it from him since then. My Grandpa and his friends made it."

Scorpius nodded dumbly. He was a little bit floored.

"We can use it to get by Filch! C'mon!" He hurried through the passageway.

Scorpius toddled after him. He was bone-weary. He'd spent half his nights awake all week, trying to finish studying for exams since he had no time to do so during the day – Al made sure their time was taken up studying to advanced spells and charms they needed to modify the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes he had mysteriously procured for their "Grand Opening", as he called it.

"Let's split up; we'll go faster."

Scorpius felt hurt. There was only one Map; how was he supposed to deal with Filch, or another teacher, if he got caught? He opened his mouth to say so while Al ignored him and pulled out a shimmery cloak. He gaped in amazement again as Al put it on and promptly disappeared.

"Neat, huh? I nicked it from Dad's study. He'd kill me if he knew," Al's voice came blithely out of nowhere. The Map was suddenly thrust into his hands.

"If anyone catches you, or you're done with it, you tap it with your wand and say, "Mischief managed."

Scorpius nodded again, still a little dazed. The boys headed off in opposite directions. They hurried through the castle, laying the little bundles from their bags down at regular intervals along the walls.

Scorpius had a close call on the seventh floor where he nearly ran into Filch; he spotted Filch's dot heading towards him and had a moment of blind panic when he realised there was nowhere to hide. He dashed back and forth along the hall, seeing Mrs. Norris coming from the opposite direction and fleeing from her, only to remember that Filch was the one he _should_ be running from, and dashing back. Stupid in his panic, he dashed back and forth three times and was nearly caught. _I need somewhere to hide!_ he thought, panicked. A door appeared in the wall in front of him and he dashed into it, looking for a hiding place.

Inside was a vast, cavernous room, filled with hundreds of cupboards, just the right size for Scorpius to hide in. Filch could look all night; he wouldn't find him. He was delighted.

He scrambled into a cupboard a little ways away from the door, then settled in with the Map to watch Filch's dot. He was surprised to note that the room he was in didn't show up on the Map. He was a trifle disappointed, but nevertheless happy to be safe and hidden away.

He waited until Filch's dot had moved far enough away, then left the room. He stared in astonishment as the door disappeared behind him when he exited the room. He made a mental note of the room's location and decided to come back with Al later to investigate more fully. Unfortunately the next day was the final day of the term; after which everyone would be leaving, so they couldn't investigate until next term.

He shrugged off the disappointment, stifling a yawn. He wanted to be done with his task so he could go to sleep. He continued along the corridor, laying the little bundles down at discrete intervals, placed right up against the wall so they were virtually unnoticeable.

He finally finished with the last of his bundles, and headed back to the Dungeon. He was exhausted, and going to bed whether Al liked it or not.

Tomorrow there would be chaos.

* * *

Minerva stared at wall. In a few moments she would be joined by the Weasley and Potter children, and she wanted to be prepared. She was well aware that the culprit she was searching for might not be among them, but she had a gut feeling that it was. Or culprits, she reminded herself. There were likely several children involved.

There was not much she could do, as this was the last day of the term. She nearly growled in frustration at the thought. This morning had been chaos. Not just because it was the last day of the term, but because while everyone was in breakfast, there were a series of explosions that went off throughout the castle. When she went to investigate, she discovered that the walls of each hallway were covered in magical paint, forming shifting phrase after shifting phrase.

"Wotcher!"

"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes!"

"Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

In large, bright neon colours various slogans and phrases appeared and shifted into other slogans, words, and phrases.

Someone had decided to channel the Weasley twins and had wreaked havoc on Hogwarts, and Minerva was damned if she was going to let whoever it was get away with it, end of the term or not. The most likely culprits were, in fact, the relatives of the Weasley twins, which is why they were now traipsing into her office, looking sheepish.

The Weasley and Potter children filed into her office, and stood there uncomfortably while she stared at them. After a moment she spoke, her voice so sharp several of them winced.

"Who is responsible for this mess?"

There were some suspicious glances exchanged, but no one looked particularly guilty. Minerva drew in her breath.

"You may think that just because it's the end of term you'll have gotten away with this. However I can make the next term utterly miserable for all of you." Her voice left no doubt in their minds that she meant what she said. "Either you'll help me find the culprits, or you'll all be punished together. Do I make myself clear?"

There was a murmur of protest, but it quickly died with a sharp look from the headmistress.

"I will not tolerate such blatant disrespect against Hogwarts. I will find out who was behind this, and they will be punished severely."

Albus Potter looked particularly innocent, wide emerald eyes shining, which was all the more suspicious. She decided privately to question his friend Scorpius; no doubt if Albus had been involved Scorpius had been as well, and he was more likely to crack under pressure and admit to it than Albus was.

"Your parents will hear about this," Minerva finished, sternly. She glared at the students with a look that would have made Snape proud, had he been alive to see it. They shrank back.

"Dismissed!"

They slowly began to leave, and once they were gone she sank back into her chair. Now to wait. She knew they would sort out who had been responsible – none of them wanted to be punished in the new term for a crime they hadn't committed – so unless the whole lot of them had worked together on this, by the end of the day she was sure she would have her man. Or men, or women, as the case may be.

A smile curved across her lips at the thought. Who said Slytherins were the only ones capable of cunning?

* * *

"Look, Potter, I swear, Professor Slughorn isn't trying to put you through 'cruel and unusual punishment,'" Malfoy made air quotes around the words as he spoke them and his lips twitched. "He's just trying to see to it that you're prepared for your Potions NEWT."

"Yeah, well," Harry groused. "He seems to be forgetting that the Potions NEWT isn't the _only _one I'll be taking."

"Honestly, Potter," Malfoy shook his head. "Considering your abysmal performance in Potions, you should be thanking the man."

"Yeah, right."

"Prat."

"Bully."

"Spoiled brat."

"Berk."

Malfoy snorted. "I'm serious, though, Potter! Do you want to be an Auror or not?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, _Mum_."

"Or were you just counting on your reputation to save you?" Malfoy scoffed.

Harry scowled. "You know I'm not –"

"Then quit whining." Malfoy stuck his tongue out impishly.

Harry rolled his eyes again. Malfoy responded by grabbing his shoulders and proceeding to snog the hell out of him.

Harry moaned as Malfoy's mouth danced across his own. The boys nipped at one another, and his lips parted for Malfoy's tongue. Together they sucked and licked at one another, enjoying the feel of the other in a gentle battle for dominance as old as the hills.

Malfoy pulled away and Harry grumbled at the loss of contact, but then Malfoy licked a stripe along his jaw and he made a keening noise in his throat. Malfoy laughed throatily and bit and sucked at Harry's neck and collarbone. He left a series of marks in his wake.

Harry whimpered.

"Fuck, Malfoy," he gasped. "You're so – ughn – you make me so hot!"

Malfoy laughed breathlessly and murmured against his collarbone. "I guess I'm doing something right, then." He pulled away and smirked, smug and self-satisfied.

Harry growled, and latched onto Malfoy's neck. He was determined to give as good as he got.

He heard Malfoy gasp and fought against a grin while he focused on marking his own trail down Malfoy's throat.

The boys swayed against each other, bodies pressing firmly together. Harry nuzzled Malfoy's jaw and the blond seized his lips in a passionate kiss. The trim lines of their taunt abdomens pulled together and Harry's hips bucked as he ground against Malfoy, a feral sound in his throat. Malfoy keened; a needy whine as he ground back.

Even through their robes Harry could feel the hard length that jutted into his hip and he twisted so that his matching erection could grind against Malfoy's. Twin moans escaped their lips as they rutted against each other in the dark, abandoned classroom.

Malfoy slipped his hand down Harry's trousers and into his pants. Harry gasped and thrust into Malfoy's hand, taken off guard by the contact. This was something that they hadn't done before. Malfoy stroked him and he moaned wantonly. He reached for Malfoy's trousers, determined not to be outdone.

He slid his hand inside. Malfoy felt strange; foreign against his hand, yet so right. He stroked Malfoy's cock and listened to the blond mewl. Harder, faster, they both moved their hands over the other; teasing, taunting, then finally drawing to a close.

Harry let out a low cry as he felt his climax building, he and Malfoy continuing to thrust almost frantically against each other as their pleasure peaked.

Soon it was over, hot streams of come spurting out and soaking the inside of his pants and trousers, and he could feel that Malfoy's were covered in his own release as well. It coated his hand and Malfoy's, and he flushed with slight embarrassment and latent arousal.

The boys leaned against one another, panting. Foreheads pressed together, clutching each other by the smalls of their backs.

With a last, tender kiss, Harry murmured a cleaning charm over them both, magicking away the mess in their pants and on their hands. Malfoy ran a hand through his hair and kissed his temple.

Neither spoke. Neither one wanted to be the one to break the silence, to break the spell. They stood in the classroom together, holding each other, basking in the afterglow.

* * *

Harry fell over and laid on the ground where he'd fallen in shock. He could hear Mr. Farris, his Legilimency and Occlumency teacher fretting over him. He ignored Mr. Farris for the moment.

He had just recovered a memory – not a dream, a memory – and it was clear that he and Draco had not simply been friends. The extent of their relationship was unclear in the memory, but the emotions he'd felt were not. He'd been in love with the bastard. He'd been in love with the bastard, and when he lost his memory Malfoy had been content to simply walk away from him.

He wondered what proportion of his dreams was true. How much of what he saw when he closed his eyes was real, and how much was fantasy? Had he and Malfoy ever been Harry and Draco to each other? Had they confessed their love for one another?

Harry wasn't sure what hurt more – the idea that none of it was real or the idea that all of it was. He knew the truth lay somewhere in the middle and that killed him. It killed him to think that Malfoy had become his friend all over again without ever letting on that they'd once been more than that. It killed him that Malfoy had just walked away from whatever it was they'd had when he'd become brain damaged.

Most of all it killed him that the feelings he'd been developing for Malfoy were more than just a figment of his imagination. They were feelings he'd had once before, feelings that had been buried deep for many years, but had obviously never gone away. And it seemed that Malfoy had never felt the same.

He wanted to scream.

Instead, he got up, and tried to reassure his frantic teacher that he was alright.

* * *

Narcissa watched her son.

Over the last week she had watched as he barely touched his food, and the dark circles under his eyes became more and more prominent. He often smelled of firewhiskey in the morning, and she wondered if he slept at all.

Something had happened when he went to visit Potter a week ago; what she didn't know but something had happened, and her Draco, her Dragon, was suffering.

She wasn't going to stand for that.

She had already watched him fall apart before, first after his Eighth year at Hogwarts, then again after Astoria's death. Each time his recovery had been long and slow and painful and incomplete.

Narcissa was no fool; she knew that her son had never fully healed from the deep wounds he'd been given. She didn't know if it was possible for him to heal completely, though she would move mountains to try and help.

She blamed herself now; she had been the one to encourage him to visit Potter, and now he was falling apart. That was on her shoulders. Perhaps he would have fallen apart anyway. That didn't make it any easier to bear or her guilt any less.

She was infinitely grateful that Scorpius was coming home in a day. He'd always been the only surefire cure to Draco's depression. Surely having him back again would alleviate the pain her son was in.

Not to mention she missed him as well.

She thought long and hard about the whole situation – trying to understand what could have possibly caused her son's pain. Perhaps Potter had gotten himself a new paramour. That was likely. His wife had been gone a year, after all. He was good-looking, and still quite famous. He could easily find a new flame.

But perhaps it was something else altogether. Perhaps – just perhaps – there was something she could do about it.

She made up her mind then. If her son didn't improve once Scorpius came home, she would be paying Harry Potter a visit, and they would have a little chat.

* * *

**A/N:** There you have it! Review, please - I'll give you a chocolate frog!

Question: Have you joined Pottermore? Why or why not?

I joined, very recently I might add. (My username is PatronusEcho4146 - feel free to add me!) I joined because I was curious what the fuss was about. So far I'm still a little lost, lol.


	11. Chapter 11 - My Fault

**Chapter Eleven:** My Fault

**Disclaimer:** It is testament to the fact that I own nothing of Harry Potter that we never got to see Tom Felton and Daniel Radcliff snog. I know, I'm disappointed, too.

**Warnings:** Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap. Language and light slash.

**A/N:** There will only be a few chapters left. This fic was never meant to be long; in fact I didn't expect it to go beyond ten chapters originally. Now I think around fifteen or so. Depends on how much the characters and story want to develop as I write. I'm so sorry this chapter is late - I have horrible writer's block and just can't seem to get rid of it. I have no Beta, and don't really edit my stories at all so it shouldn't take me so long to get them out. I write them, read them once and make corrections as I go along, and all in all I'm ashamed of myself for not being able to do it faster. But writer's block is a nasty b*tch and she doesn't like me. :(

Special thanks to **Daddy's crazy little bitch, mightymouse29, harrytwifan, Rufescent, Water0Blossom, Gingerchild, Crystal Bruner, **and **Lissah **for their reviews! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed, and favourited! You guys inspire me to keep trying when I'm struggling to write!

* * *

Is it my fault, is it my fault?  
We've been missing each other  
We've been missing each other  
My fault, is it my fault?  
We've been missing each other  
We've been missing each other

My Fault - Imagine Dragons

* * *

"What's wrong, Harry?"

Hermione looked patiently at her best friend where he was sitting on her couch, quiet and contemplative. He'd been pale and withdrawn all through supper, and she had a feeling it had to do with the Legilimency session he'd had right before coming over. She wondered if it had to do with Ron's betrayal, still fresh in her mind. Then she decided it couldn't have been, since Harry had not seemed to have a problem with Ron in particular. He'd simply been depressed and rather antisocial.

"Who says there's something wrong?" Harry evaded.

She shot him a look. He moved to get up.

"I should get Lily and get going," he murmured.

Hermione pushed him back down onto the couch, he fell back with a startled, "Oomph!" and looked at her through wide eyes.

"Harry James Potter," she glared at him. "Sit your ass back down now and listen to me." He obeyed meekly. Hermione didn't often use words like "ass" and when she did it was time to listen to her and do exactly as you were told. "Lily is playing with Hugo and Ron's keeping an eye on them. She's fine and will continue to be fine until we're done talking, and you're not going to spoil her playtime with her cousin just so you can escape from talking about what's wrong. And don't even think about trying to tell me nothing's wrong," she added as he opened his mouth to object. "I've known you too well for too long to be fooled by that load of tripe. Now talk."

Harry fidgeted. He'd talked to the mind healer following his Legilimency session and that had only served to leave him more conflicted. But Hermione had always been a source of strength and a fount of wisdom for him over the years; he wondered if he should trust her with what was currently his deepest secret. He let out a deep sigh and motioned for her to sit next to him. She did, and he raked a nervous hand through his hair.

"You know the dreams I told you I've been having? The reason I wanted to go to the Legilimency lessons in the first place?"

Hermione nodded.

"They've been about Malfoy."

Hermione sucked in a breath. "Oh," she said in a small voice. Apparently this had to do with the reason behind Ron's betrayal after all. Just not necessarily the fact that Ron had betrayed him. She wondered what to say, what to do. It was Ron's place to confess, not hers.

"I thought they were all fabrications, that the memories I'd uncover with Legilimency would prove that and make them stop." He drew in a ragged breath and continued. "Today I recovered a memory that proved that at least some of what I've been dreaming about really happened."

"What kind of things?" Hermione was stalling.

"Malfoy and I... had a romantic relationship in eighth year."

Hermione hesitated. "Are you sure?" The trepidation on her face was misunderstood as shock and reservations about the reality of Harry's claim.

"I don't know how serious it was. If it was just a fling, or what. But I'm pretty sure that it was more than a fling, for my part at least."

"Oh, Harry..."

He shrugged. "I just don't know what to do, what to think. I have so many unanswered questions. Why he didn't try to stay with me when I lost my memories. Why he would have just walked away and pretended that nothing ever happened between us."

"I can't answer that, Harry."

"I was in love, Hermione. How could I have kept everyone in the dark? I would have thought that you, at least, would have figured it out. But nobody knew except him. So nobody told me, and I lost someone else I loved, after I've already lost so many." There were tears in his eyes, and a touch of bitterness in his flinched.

That was the core of it. The twin despairing thoughts that someone he had loved so much - for whom he was now reliving those feeling quite intensely thanks to the dreams, the recovered memory, and Malfoy's friendship over the past few months - had walked away from him without a backward glance, and that that had cost him someone he had loved, when he'd already lost more loved ones to the war than he could bear. Not that Draco had died, but that he had left Harry's life as if he'd never been in it - not the real Draco Malfoy, that is, just the front Harry had known for most of his Hogwarts years before getting to know the real Draco Malfoy. Every good memory Harry had of him had been obliterated, and he had not bothered to make any more to leave Harry with.

Harry wanted an explanation.

Harry never wanted to see Malfoy again.

Harry missed the blond so much his whole body ached with it.

Harry was equally afraid that if he saw Malfoy again he'd end up grabbing him and snogging him senseless, thereby losing his friendship, or that he'd end up yelling his head off at the blond and verbally castrating him for something that he'd done nearly twenty years prior.

Did Malfoy even remember their affair?

Had it meant anything to him at all?

How could he so calmly be Harry's friend now knowing what there had once been between them and knowing that Harry didn't know?

"I know it probably doesn't make you feel any better to hear this, Harry," Hermione cut into his thoughts. "But I was very distracted then; I'd only just found my parents and was juggling school with trying to reintroduce myself into their lives. They couldn't remember me, and while I could convince them using magic that my story was true, it didn't change that they couldn't remember raising me or loving me before we got to know each other after I found them again when I was eighteen. I lifted the charm, but their memories are permanently blurry, like dreams rather than memories. It wasn't the same between us and it took years of work on my part to regain my closeness to them. But my point is; I didn't notice. I'm sorry, Harry - Merlin knows I wish I had. But I had no idea. I was too caught up in my own drama to see anyone else's."

"I know, Mione. I know." Harry sighed, feeling defeated.

"You should talk to Ron about this," Hermione said, softly. She wouldn't be the one to tell Harry about Ron's betrayal - that was his confession to make - but she wanted them to have the conversation before Harry remembered that the redhead knew about his affair.

"Ron would have kittens," Harry chuckled mirthlessly.

"He's your best mate. I think it would be good for you two to talk about it," Hermione pressed.

"Maybe." Harry shrugged.

"Are you going to talk to him about it?"

"I said maybe, Mione."

"I meant Malfoy."

"Oh."

Silence.

"I don't know." Muffled, Harry having buried his face in his hands.

"I think you should, Harry." Hermione hesitated, then continued. "I don't remember much about eighth year; it was such a hard time for me and it all seemed to go by in a blur, but I do believe Malfoy tried to regain your friendship and you spurned him. None of us cared at the time; we'd thought you were crazy to be friends with him in the first place, and we had no idea just how much he meant to you before or we would have tried to convince you to give him a chance, for your own sake. But I remember him staring at you almost constantly whenever we had class together, in the hallways, or across the Great Hall. I felt a little bit bad for him but you hated him so much I figured there was no point saying anything. I'm so sorry, Harry."

A flicker of hope flared in Harry's heart, but he quickly quashed it. There was no point getting wound up over maybes. Especially since Malfoy hadn't cared enough to keep trying, even if what Hermione said was true. Enough to try once, maybe; but not enough to convince Harry to try to see past his irrational hatred. Harry believed with his whole heart that had their positions been reversed, he would have stopped at nothing to ensure that the blond remembered him, or at least rekindled their though he knew it was entirely possible Malfoy's pride had been what kept him from going to whatever lengths were necessary to woo and win Harry back, he resented Malfoy for placing his pride above their love.

Their love.

He was getting ahead of himself. For all he knew his love had been unrequited.

He shook his head to clear it. "Thanks, Mione," he managed.

"What did the mind healer have to say about this?'

"She had a field day with it. I swear I've never seen someone so disappointed as when our hour was up and she couldn't keep hounding me," Harry said with a laugh. Hermione brightened; he shot her the first real smile he'd worn all night. It made her feel marginally better, but she was still apprehensive about his impending conversation with Ron.

"I think Ron would have some unique input to give you about this," Hermione forged ahead. "I say talk to him about it. I'm pretty sure he'll surprise you." _Just not in a good way_, she thought morosely.

"I can already imagine Ron's reaction, Mione," Harry grimaced. "It was bad enough when he learned that Malfoy and I are friends now. I don't want to think what he'll say if he learns the truth."

"The truth about what?" Ron stood in the doorway, looking from his best mate to wife in confusion.

"Err," said Harry.

"I'll leave you two to talk," said Hermione, with false brightness. She tried to get up but Harry snagged her elbow and held her fast.

"Don't you dare," he warned.

"What's this about?" Ron looked nervous.

Hermione and Harry were both doing their own impressions of a deer caught in headlights. Or a flier on a broom facing a fighter jet.

"Seriously, you guys are starting to scare me," Ron offered. He was looking more nervous by the minute.

Harry sighed, resigned. He leaned forward in his seat, loosening his grip for a moment and Hermione pulled away, murmuring about checking on the children. She all but fled the room.

"For someone who thought I should talk to you she's being remarkably unsupportive," Harry sulked.

"For the love of Merlin, Harry, _what's going on_?"

"I used to date Malfoy," Harry blurted. He sat back suddenly, looking abashed and slightly frightened. He shot his friend a worried look. Ron stood as if petrified. Harry hesitated, encouraged by the lack of hexing and red-faced screaming. "I found that out in today's session. I used to love him, Ron. I think I might still love him."

Ron looked positively green. "You... still love him? But Harry, you didn't even know about dating him this morning."

"I've been dreaming about him for months," Harry said softly. "I thought my feelings and the dreams would go away once I got my memories back and proved to myself that nothing had ever happened between us. Then today I find out the reason it feels like we belong together is because we did at one point. What I felt for him was beyond anything I've ever imagined feeling for anyone."

Ron made a strangled sounding noise in the back of his throat. "Do you... regret Ginny?" he choked out.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair. He decided to be brutally honest and get it over with. "I cared about Ginny, you know that, Ron." His voice was low. "But what I felt for Draco was something I ached for my entire marriage and never had with her. I know she's your sister and all, but she didn't find it in me, either, and I think you know it." He glanced at the redhead, pleading with his eyes for him to understand. "You know Gin talked about divorcing me. It wasn't just me. If that was all there was to it, I couldn't help regretting it, and it's not fair for you to be angry with me about that." Ignoring the fact that Ron had yet to display any sign of anger, of anything but feeling sick. "But... Merlin knows my children are the best things that have ever happened to me, the best thing I've ever done in my life was have a hand in their creation; I'd even swear it tops killing Voldemort. So for that alone I can't really say I regret it. But it hurts, Ron. It hurts so fucking bad." Tears filled his eyes and he bowed his head, waiting for Ron to lose it.

Instead, Ron wept.

Harry's head jerked up at the sound as he stared at his friend in shock. Ron was crying. Not yelling, not screaming; crying. He wasn't reacting in a typical Ron way at all. Harry was frightened.

"I'm sorry," Ron choked out. "Harry, I... I'm so sorry."

"What for?" Harry was floored. He felt confused and concerned. This was not the reaction he expected at all.

"I meddled in your life. But I swear I thought it was the right thing to do!" Ron's eyes were on him, desperate, willing him to believe. Only Harry wasn't sure what he was supposed to be believing.

He stared blankly. Ron stared at the floor in misery.

"I knew."

Harry waited.

"I knew about Malfoy. And you. I've known since just before your accident."

The room seemed to spin around Harry. He drew a deep, shuddering breath as he gazed into the eyes of his so-called best mate. He thought of his best friend and her words to him earlier and another wave of pain rolled through him.

"And Hermione?" His voice broke.

"She had no idea. I told her last week, and she told me to talk to you as soon as possible." Ron's voice was earnest. They sat in silence for a moment, then Ron spoke in a whisper.

"Ginny knew, too."

For a moment Harry's vision went black and there seemed to be a dull roaring in his ears. He couldn't think; couldn't breathe. Ron had to be lying. He had to be. Harry and Ginny had their differences, things hadn't been perfect between them, but she wouldn't have done that to him. She couldn't. If she had... maybe he'd never really known her after all.

Harry stood abruptly. "I need to go," he murmured, distantly.

"Harry -"

"Don't!" His voice was laced with pain. "Don't talk to me right now, Ron. I don't want to hear it."

He stalked out of the room.

He found Hermione putting away laundry upstairs, while Hugo and Lily played happily in his room. He didn't bother with preamble.

"Can Lily spend the night here?"

"Harry!" Hermione turned at the sound of his voice. Concern shone in her brown eyes. "Are you alright?"

"No," he answered bluntly. "I need to be alone, to think. Please, can you watch Lily for the night?"

She nodded. "I'm so sorry, Harry," she said, softly. "I wish none of this had happened."

"I can't think. I can't... I need to be alone, Mione."

"Alright, Harry," she said. Her eyes followed him as he headed back downstairs.

In the sitting room Ron was still sitting where Harry had left him, head bowed. His head jerked up when Harry came back into the room, but Harry ignored him. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder off the mantle and tossed it into the flames, yelling, "Number 12, Grimmauld Place!"

Back at home, Harry stumbled out of the fireplace alone. He fell to his knees, and finally let himself cry.

* * *

_Secrets shared; confidences given and taken and kept._

_Endless discussions about the past, the present, the future - about the meaning of life. _

_Endearments exchanged in low, hurried whispers. _

_Proclamations__ of love nuzzled into ears and kissed into flesh. _

_Stolen kisses; some chaste and tender, some a frenzy of passionate need. _

_Long, slender fingers that grip his skin, nails cutting into him. _

_A blond head thrown back, long pale neck exposed and inviting. _

_That back arching, his name a strangled cry from that kissable mouth; a fervent prayer wrenched from deep within that elegant throat._

_Pale flesh that writhes beneath him as he moves._

_Smelling of vanilla and spices, with an undercurrent of that unique, individual scent that makes his toes curl._

_Tasting of sweat-saltiness and something distinctly male; distinctly his lover's__. _

_Mercurial silver eyes glazed with lust; stormy grey ones crinkling in the corners as laughter bubbles out from behind soft pink lips. _

_Laughter, now full-bodied and all-consuming; now breathless, quiet, and restrained._

_Voice a gentle tenor with an almost musical lilt; raised in song it rivals an angel, in speech it can be soft and seductive or sharp and shrewd. _

_Snarky razor wit, sometimes a tool for amusement, delightful and funny; occasionally a weapon, cutting and cruel; always clever, ever-ready on that sharpest and most luscious of tongues. _

_Malfoy._

_Draco._

_**Mine.**_

* * *

Harry woke twisted up in his sheets, a mess of need and longing. He let loose a frustrated, strangled cry and buried his head in his hands. Images and whispers and smells and tastes and sensations assaulted his senses and left him tormented and bereft of comfort. He was devastated and beyond torn up about how Malfoy could have just allowed things between them to end.

He wanted to see him. Ached for it.

He never wanted to see him again.

He didn't know what he wanted.

Ron. Ginny. The memory of their betrayal rang fresh in his mind.

_Is it my fault?_ he asked himself. _Is it something I did, or said that made everyone I loved betray me like this?_

Malfoy, Ron, Ginny... all three of them had hurt him. Was it his fault?

Had he somehow said or done something so horrible that Malfoy had chosen to walk away from him?

Had he truly deserved Ron and Ginny's deception?

He curled into a ball under the covers, willing the world to go away.

An insistent tapping at his window brought him slowly out of his reverie. He got up and opened the window to let in the owl. It was one of Hogwarts' owls. He took the letter from it and gave it a treat, absently. He read the letter and sighed. Things kept getting better and better.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_I regret to inform you that your son, Albus, was involved in a serious act of vandalism on the school. This goes beyond petty pranking and needs to be addressed as such. I will be adjusting the wards and opening the Floo in my office this morning at eleven, to allow you and the other parent involved to come through to discuss your children's behaviour and the appropriate punishments. You may then take the Hogwarts Express back with your children and the others, as it is the last day of school. _

_If you are unable to make it, please send a reply with this owl. We can arrange an alternate meeting time then. _

_Sincerely yours, _

_Professor Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. _

Harry cast a quick _Tempus _and saw that it was nine. He'd slept in due to being up so late tossing and turning with all the newfound knowledge running through his head. He sighed again, and moved to dress himself.

Much as he was disappointed in his son for getting into such trouble, he was grateful for the distraction. He couldn't wait for eleven.

* * *

Draco and Narcissa were enjoying a rather silent breakfast. Rather, Narcissa was attempting to enjoy it, but was being thwarted by her son's obvious reluctance to actually eat anything. He looked downcast, eyes hollow, and face gaunt.

Narcissa was worried. As she had been all month. She racked her brain for a way to discuss things with Draco that might make him open up to her. Damn Lucius and the pride he'd instilled in his son, she thought, viciously for a moment, cursing that he was too proud to confide in her.

Lucius. There was another worry. His hearing was in another month and if things went well – and last she'd heard Harry Potter was willing to testify on their behalf, so that was good – Lucius would be released on parole. After twenty years. Finally, Narcissa would see her husband again. Her heart beat just a little bit faster at the thought.

Lucius was a proud, cold man; arrogant and self-important. He also valued his family above all else, and once he'd let you in his heart he would protect and love you with everything he had. His pureblood traditions and habits dictated that he not demonstrate it openly or emotionally, but it was there and he would do his best to convey what he felt without words.

She loved him.

She missed him.

They were eminently suited for one another. She missed their banter; the way they danced around one another with their words. She missed the pureblooded flirtations, high class and subtle, but conveying desire and affection nonetheless.

She wanted him back.

Narcissa was distracted by the arrival of an owl. It hovered by Draco's head, and he took the letter from it. He read for a moment and let out a groan. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.  
"Bad news?" Narcissa couldn't entirely mask her concern.

"Scorpius is in trouble at school. I need to Floo over for eleven."

"Oh dear, I hope it's nothing serious."

"Serious enough to warrant a visit in person on the last day of school." Draco quirked a brow at her.

"True." Now she was worried about what Scorpius had gotten up to.

She sighed, her attention once again drawn to her son. Potter had a lot to answer for, she decided, reflecting on Draco's worn and drawn appearance. And answer he would.

She summoned some parchment and set about writing a letter to one Harry Potter requesting an audience.

* * *

"Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall's voice held the merest hint of warmth. Coming from her that was akin to an affectionate greeting.

"Professor McGonagall," he nodded, smiling at her. "It's good to see you again, though I wish it were under different circumstances."

"So do I, Mr. Potter. So do I." She gestured towards the front of her office. "Come, sit down. You're both here now, so I'll get right to it."

Harry started to move towards the front of the office, then froze. He stared at the other individual sitting in front of McGonagall's desk. Draco Malfoy stared back at him, looking just as stricken.

* * *

**A/N: **What do you like to see in Drarry stories? Are you more fond of Fluff, or of Hurt/Comfort, Humour, or Angst?

I love fluff. I love humour, but I can't write it well. I like some Angst or Hurt/Comfort so long as it has a happy ending. :) I like my OTP intact, thankyouverymuch.


	12. Chapter 12 - Quick Note - Vote For This!

**A/N:** okay guys, this is just a quick head's up letting you know what's happening.

I've had a lot going on; been sick, had other responsibilities, had other stories I was obligated to write, and had writer's block on top of it all.

Now rather than making you listen to me ramble, I'll simply promise you a chapter either later tonight or tomorrow.

And I want to tell you all, this story has been entered into a contest!

Vote for me here: energizewipawards DOT blog spot DOT ca / 2013 / 07 / voting DOT ht ml? spref=fb

Thanks! I'll reward you with a chapter later - 2 chapters and an epilogue to go, guys! :D


	13. Chapter 13 - Everything Is Screaming

**Chapter Twelve: **Everything Is Screaming

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing of Harry Potter or any associated characters. I merely borrow them to corrupt them before returning them relatively unharmed, if a little more worldly-wise.

**Warnings:** None for this chapter. Oh, maybe language, but I don't think so. I was a good girl here.

**A/N: **One more chapter to go, and an epilogue! Do you guys realise this will be the first chapter fic I've ever completed? :-O I'm so proud of me! *tears up*

*Ahem* I'd like to thank everyone who followed, favourited, and reviewed! Especially **Harrytwifan, avalon evermore, DanzAngel, Gingerchild, Daddy's crazy little bitch, Rufescent, Bookworm17NerdyMom, Seminole Sweetie, Belldandy55555, Crystal Bruner, Buford, Amanda, Harry-Draco-Nuttah, RipleyWhiteFire, CLovesHarryPotter,** and **Mayle** for their reviews! Special thanks to **harrytwifan **for nominating my story in a contest! Thank you, Nancy! :D

Speaking of, please go vote for me here: energizewipawards DOT blog spot DOT ca / 2013 / 07 / voting DOT ht ml? spref=fb Thank you! Enjoy! :D

* * *

When the day has come  
That I've lost my way around  
And the seasons stop and hide beneath the ground  
When the sky turns gray  
And everything is screaming  
I will reach inside  
Just to find my heart is beating

Bleeding Out – Imagine Dragons

* * *

Draco stared at Potter, his heart in his throat. Potter gazed at him, a look of pure shock on his face. There was a flash of pain in his eyes, and then his face hardened into a mask of cold, vengeful fury. He knew. Oh, sweet Merlin, he _knew._

Draco wished fervently the floor would open and swallow him up. Headmistress McGonagall was, however, indifferent to or unaware of the looks that passed between the two men, and motioned for Potter to take a seat next to Draco. He did, stiffly.

"What's this about, Headmistress?" he asked carefully.

"Your sons," she began, fixing them each with a glare that implied their complicity in whatever trouble their offspring had gotten into, simply for having produced them. "Seem to have gotten the bright idea to imitate the Weasley twins' escape from Hogwarts."

Draco felt indignant. "Scorpius would never –"

"He's already confessed. Indeed, he was the one who cracked under pressure and admitted his part in it. He refused to sell out his friend, but if I've learned one thing this year, it's that where Scorpius Malfoy is involved, Albus Potter is sure to be the ringleader."

She let out a longsuffering sigh. "Honestly, your sons getting along is almost worse than the two of you fighting was."

Draco fought a smirk and failed. He glanced at Potter, who was doing the same, and exchanged a conspiratorial wink with the other man before he remembered that he was upset with Draco and his face froze, turning into a mask of indifference as he turned his attention back to Professor McGonagall.

"Your sons," continued McGonagall, unaware of the exchange, "Set up a series of magically charmed paint bombs, planted throughout the castle. They exploded during breakfast and left the walls of the castle covered in various slogans and sayings, many of which were from various order members who died in the war, or from Professor Dumbledore himself." She caught her breath.

Draco and Potter both stared at her in astonishment.

"Which sons?" asked Potter weakly, and Draco wanted to laugh.

"Albus and Scorpius," repeated McGonagall, looking very tired. "On the one hand, the charms they used were quite sophisticated and you should be congratulated on having first year sons capable of pulling them off. On the other hand, they caused a lot of mayhem and a great deal of work for myself and the other teachers, as the charmed paint proved quite difficult to remove. They need to be punished appropriately, and while I can assign a punishment at the start of next term, children generally don't care as much about long term consequences and a punishment administered in shorter term might have greater affect. Which is why I would like to know if you plan to do anything about this or not."

"They can't see each other for the summer," replied Potter evenly. "No visiting, no floo calling. Just letters. I think that would be plenty punishment enough."

Draco was horrified. Scorpius had never really had a friend before; he was generally too shy. While he agreed that the boys needed to be punished, he was not about to take away Scorpius' only friend. "I think that's a little harsh, don't you?" He glanced at McGonagall, hoping she wouldn't agree with Potter.

Then he turned to Potter, remembering how Potter had told him about his time at the Dursleys; how horrid it had been. He'd been abused, emotionally and mentally, neglected, and starved. And he'd had no friends. Even after Hogwarts, every summer he had no friends around save a few letters. He pled to Potter's empathy now.

"Scorpius has no other friends, Potter. You of all people know what it's like to have no friends and get nothing but a few letters all summer."

Potter flinched.

"I'm sure Albus has other friends, so this would be less of a punishment for him than for Scorpius. And the headmistress called him the ringleader; do you really think that's fair? I can think of an appropriate punishment for my son, but I won't subject him to the loneliness of being friendless for the summer."

Even as he spoke his mind scrambled to come up with an appropriate punishment. He knew he'd need to have something good to combat Potter's suggestion.

"What did you have in mind, Mr. Malfoy?" asked the headmistress.

"Perhaps a period of being grounded," he began, "Grounded from visiting with _any_ friends," he stressed the word. "for the duration of the grounding. Also being banned from sweets, and having to do chores, like a detention, for the period of grounding." He nodded. "Say two weeks?"

"A month?" suggested McGonagall hopefully.

"That sounds like a harsher punishment than mine," put in Potter, frowning.

"Nevertheless, it would not be quite so cruel to Scorpius, as losing his only friend and playmate the entire summer," said Draco coolly. "And we can hold it over their heads that we thought about banning them from seeing each other all summer; that should be an effective check on their future behaviour."

Potter glared at him. "I don't particularly want Al visiting Scorpius this summer, " he said in a low voice.

Draco winced, but stayed strong. "Don't punish the son for the father," he said, softly. "You can't let them suffer because of us."

Potter flinched again. He sighed and looked away. He looked utterly wretched. "Fine," he ground out. "Have it your way."

"Thank you, gentlemen," said McGonagall, looking no less stern than when they'd started; Draco wondered if her face would crack if she smiled. He'd never seen it, though he'd heard it had happened.

"Now," she said, all business, "I've sent for your sons and we can explain this to them. I will of course be assigning a detention for when they return, but the immediate punishment is what will catch their attention. Thank you for your cooperation in this matter." She gave them each a curt nod. "I understand it must be difficult to put aside your old animosity for your sons' sake."

"You have no idea," thought Draco, a trifle hysterically.

"Yes," said Potter. "It is."

He said no more than that, and there was a clattering sound as their boys came up the stairs, looking guilty and a little afraid. Albus, Draco noted, also looked a little sullen and a trifle rebellious. Scorpius just looked embarrassed and frightened.

Now that he got a good look at him Draco was amazed at how like Potter his child was. He had the same messy black hair, the same piercing green eyes, and his features all seemed to have been lifted directly from his father. Just as Scorpius was a mirror image of himself, so was this young man a perfect doppelganger of his father at his age.

He smiled slightly, sadly, at the memories the image invoked.

Potter focused on his son and ignored Draco. "Al, I don't think I need to tell you how disappointed I am…" Draco turned to Scorpius.

"Scorpius." He made sure his voice dripped with the appropriate level of disappointment and disapproval. _Just like my father._ "Why would you do something like this?"

The boys exchanged looks. Their fathers might be ignoring one another, but they were determined that they were in this together. They turned back and said in unison, "We want to be greater than the Weasley twins!"

Draco closed his eyes and groaned inwardly. He wondered how his son could have ever come to admire a Weasley of all people; let alone two of them. Although even he could admit that the Weasley twins had been brilliant.

"Scorpius," he said severely. "You are not here to communicate with your friend. In fact, you will have no communication with your friend for the next two weeks!" He glared and Scorpius shrank back a little.

"Two weeks?" he whispered, his eyes going wide. "That long?"

"You should know we thought about keeping you boys apart for the whole summer. You should be grateful the punishment was shortened as much as it was." Both boys were staring at him slack jawed and looked quite cowed. Potter looked bemused.

"You'll be doing chores and not getting any sweets for the two weeks, either. In fact, you're grounded, which means no friends or floo calling until the two weeks are up." Potter gave his son his best glare, which was still less effective than Draco's.

"But dad," began Albus.

"Papa, _please_," begged Scorpius.

"No," said their fathers in unison. Draco glanced at Potter and there was the ghost of a smile on his face, but he caught himself and schooled his features. Draco felt a tiny spark of hope in his heart, that maybe, just maybe, he'd be forgiven and he could have Potter's friendship again.

They would be forced together because of their sons, over the summer. And Draco was not above using their sons' friendship to reconcile with Potter. He was, after all, a Slytherin.

* * *

Narcissa sighed inwardly. Outwardly she maintained the façade of calm, cool collectedness that befitted a Malfoy. She looked over the documents spread in front of her on the table and longed to give in and bury her face in her hands. To let go, just for a moment. But she had already decided, long ago, that no matter what happened she would never step out of the role she had chosen.

She might have married Lucius as part of an arranged marriage, but her love for him became genuine over the years, and she showed it the only acceptable way she could – by assuming the role of a Malfoy completely and utterly.

She would be regal and dignified at all times, and never break from her composure. The only time she had ever faltered was during the war, over Draco, her baby.

Draco had discarded the composed nature of a Malfoy at times; as the current Lord Malfoy, it was his right. He raised Scorpius to be more free and easy with his expressions and emotions than he himself had been, although Scorpius was often subdued due to the nature of his training. Narcissa did her best to instill Malfoy values in him, in order to preserve his heritage.

She loved Lucius, enough to know he would appreciate her seemingly cold exterior far more than any words or tokens of affection. Despite his absence during the long years in Azkaban, she had done her best to maintain that in his honour.

Now she might have him back. The prospect somehow terrified her. What if he had changed? What if the man who came back was utterly unlike the man she had so loved and waited for all these years? What if he loved her no longer?

Would he resent Draco for taking his place as head of the family? Would he despise Scorpius for being unruly and undisciplined?

These thoughts and many others swirled through her brain, clouding her thoughts, making it difficult to think.

She needed to think. She needed to prepare the best possible defense for Lucius, to guarantee his release. She needed to calm down. A slight tremor was all that gave her away. She was otherwise perfectly serene on the outside. She needed to talk to her son and have him be a support for her. Unfortunately, that was not possible right now.

_Draco_.

She closed her eyes.

Her son was not okay. Something had happened, and he was worse than he'd been before. Having Scorpius back home didn't make things any better, as she'd hoped. But Scorpius was being punished for an infraction at school – Narcissa had been scandalised when she heard the details – and was consequently very bored.

His father was, he quickly discovered, utterly useless at the moment. Draco was a nervous wreck, and usually spent his days being hung-over. So her grandson had turned to her to entertain him. Today he was free from his punishment, at last, and while he was firecalling the Potter boy, she was finally free to focus on her paperwork.

Except she couldn't focus. All the problems she was facing in her family and with Lucius crowded to the front of her mind. She didn't know how to help Draco, and she didn't know what was going to happen with Lucius, and she dearly wished that she was a little younger so she could better entertain Scorpius. For once she wished she could just break down and cry. But that wouldn't be befitting of a Malfoy; she had not broken down completely during the war, she would not do it now.

"Grandmother!" Scorpius came in, looking as prim and regal and Malfoyish as he could when he was bursting with excitement. His white-blond hair was perfectly placed and untouched, but his grey eyes were dancing, alive with happiness.

"Yes, Scorpius, dear?" she tried her best not to sound like she had a migraine.

"Can I go visit Al?" he was practically bouncing from one foot to the next. "Please?"

She sighed. "Scorpius, go tell your father I order him to take you to visit your friend."

With a whooping cry, he raced from the room. There. That ought to keep him busy for a while. And it ought to occupy Draco as well. Visiting Potter might be just what he needed. Merlin knew he hadn't done it for a while. She suspected Potter to have something to do with her son's current condition; in fact she was sure of it. If he and Potter did not resolve their differences on this visit, she intended to visit Potter herself and have it out with him.

She was sick and tired of the chaos.

Draco came into the room, looking disheveled, as was his wont these days.

"Mother!"

"Yes, Draco?"

"You can't be serious!"

She looked up at him slowly and eyed him critically. Salazar, the boy was a mess. Hair mussed, clothes slept in and rumpled, his face unshaven.

"Perfectly," she drawled. "I assume you'll want to make yourself presentable, first?"

He gaped at her.

"Problem, Draco?" She arched a brow at him. He glared back.

"No, ma'am," he replied stiffly.

He turned and stalked from the room. She smiled lightly to herself. If nothing else, this would encourage him to make himself look presentable.

* * *

Scorpius was so excited. He was going to see Al again! He was waiting rather impatiently for his father to finish getting ready so they could leave.

"Dad?" he called, hoping his voice didn't sound too whiney. "Are you ready yet?" He tried to stifle his impatience. He hadn't seen or talked to his best friend in two weeks and he was falling over himself in his eagerness to see Al again.

When Al issued the invitation he hadn't even thought to ask his father – his dad had been strange ever since he came home, shutting himself up all the time, running his hands through his normally perfect hair, and mumbling to himself. He looked sick. His eyes were empty. He was scaring Scorpius.

He spent time with his grandmother instead, waiting for whatever was wrong with his dad to be fixed. His dad came out of his room at last, looking more normal than he had since Scorpius had come home. Except his eyes. They still looked haunted.

Scorpius didn't have the words to pinpoint the problem, he just knew it was there. He put his arms around his father, who startled a bit at the contact.

"I love you, Dad," he said softly. "I hope you get better soon."

His dad swallowed hard and closed his eyes. "Me too, Scorpius," he said. "Me too." After a pause he added, "I'm sorry I haven't been there for you these past couple of weeks. I'll try to do better, okay?" He gave Scorpius a tiny smile and the boy delighted to see that it was just a tiny bit real. It didn't quite reach his eyes, but almost.

He happily marched off to the floo, where he waited for his father to join him. His dad took an ornate dish off the mantle and held it out. Scorpius grabbed a handful of the powder inside, tossed it into the fireplace, and called out, "Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London!" He then jumped into the flames.

Scorpius stumbled out the other end. He was gleeful and happy to see Al, who was waiting for him. They threw their arms around each other in an enthusiastic hello hug. Scorpius' dad coughed behind them.

Scorpius glanced at his dad. His dad, who was normally very composed, was acting very nervous. It was a little unnerving. He repeatedly moved from one foot to the other, wiped his hands on his trousers, smoothed his hair, and his eyes were constantly darting back and forth across the room, as if he expected someone to jump out at him any minute.

"Say Al, are you done with the floo yet?" Al's dad stepped into the room, and his jaw dropped in shock. "Al, what –?" he began.

"You said I could have him over," said Al, a trifle defiantly. "I asked first."

Al's dad closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefinger.

Scorpius' dad spoke up, his voice a nervous stutter. "S-so I take it, you didn't- didn't know then?" He sounded slightly disappointed. He looked almost afraid of Al's dad.

Scorpius frowned at them. Al had told him his dad mentioned in one of his letters that their dads were friends. He'd written and asked his dad, who said it was true. But they weren't acting like it.

His eyes widened. They must be fighting! He and Al fought occasionally, but they always made up right away. The lone fight that had not been resolved right away had resulted in a three day silence which had made both boys acutely miserable. He remembered how he'd felt during those three days and shivered. No wonder his dad was so upset!

"No, but since you're here I might as well make the best of it." His voice was cold and icy. Yep, they were definitely fighting.

As Al led him out of the room he stopped by Mr. Potter and motioned for him to come closer. Leaning over with one hand up, cupping Mr. Potter's ear and keeping his words from spreading he whispered, "I think you and my dad should make up." Al's dad drew in a sharp breath.

"What do you know about it?" he asked sharply, looking at Scorpius. Scorpius shrugged.

"I don't know anything. You guys are acting weird, and my dad's sad all the time. I dunno what he did but I think he's sorry. Can you guys just be friends again?"

Mr. Potter gave him a sad look. "It's not that easy, bud," he said softly.

"That's what I thought too when me and Al fought, but I felt so much better once we got over it. Just think about it, okay?" Mr. Potter gave him a helpless nod, and he turned and followed Al out.

"Tea?" he heard Al's dad say, in that icy cold voice.

He heard his dad reply, "No, if it's all the same to you, I have some things to do back at the Manor… would you be able to keep Scorpius for a bit without me here?"

"Of course." Al's dad sounded relieved. Scorpius was disappointed, but he resigned himself to the fact that adults wouldn't listen to children. Unless… He grinned. With Hogwarts' two sneakiest Slytherins on the case, he was sure they could make some headway.

"Hey, Al, has your dad been acting weird since you came home?"

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy listened as the floo roared in the other room. She set down her papers. It was much too early for Scorpius and Draco to have returned; they'd only just left. She rose and walked into the sitting room, to find out what had happened. She saw Draco, but no Scorpius, and took a guess.

"You left Scorpius there, unsupervised?"

Draco scowled. "Albus' father is there. And he said it was fine. Besides, Scorpius is nearly twelve."

She shook her head. "You haven't made up with Harry Potter, have you, Draco?"

He started. "What…?"

She sighed. "I know you too well." She gave him a sad, tired smile.

"Leave it, Mother," he said shortly.

He stalked out of the room. She followed, and her heart sank as he enclosed himself in his study once again. She headed back to the sitting room.

She lifted some powder from the dish on the mantle in a delicate white hand, and tossed it into the flames. "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place," she called, and stepped in.

* * *

Harry was surprised when he heard the floo roar in the other room. _It can't be Malfoy, back so soon,_ he thought to himself, quelling the half-hopeful feeling that bubbled in his chest at the thought with another bout of righteous anger.

"Hermione?" he called, walking into the sitting room.

"Sorry, not Hermione," responded a proud, refined voice, and he started in surprise. Sure enough, as he entered the room, there stood Narcissa Malfoy.

"I apologize for the intrusion," she began. "But I felt it necessary to speak with you without further delay. The more I delay, the more desperate the situation becomes."

"Err, I see?" Harry didn't.

She fixed him with an icy glare. "Don't play games with me, Mr. Potter. Whatever you're doing to my son, it needs to stop."

He gaped at her.

She continued. "He doesn't eat, his sleeping habits are erratic, and he drinks himself into oblivion more nights than not. He's falling apart and there's nothing I can do to stop it." Her voice trembled.

Harry found his voice. "And you think I have something to do with it?"

She glared at him again. "It cannot have escaped your notice, Mr. Potter, that my son is in love with you."

Harry gaped again. Was the woman mad? You didn't just barge into someone's home and accuse them of breaking your son's heart. It just wasn't done.

He cleared his throat. "I don't think…" he began.

"No, clearly you don't," sighed Narcissa. "Listen, and listen well; my son was in love with you years ago, and whatever falling out you two had took him years to recover from, and it was only Scorpius' birth that gave him any life again. Now, you come back into his life, and after making him happy for a while he's back to being broken-hearted again. So I ask you, Mr. Potter; please stop playing games with my son. He's not as strong as he seems."

"But I-" protested Harry.

"Not a word, Mr. Potter," she held up a single, delicate hand as she turned and strode back towards the fireplace. "I have said my piece to you. I expect you to think over my words and give me the courtesy of taking them to heart. I would hate," she lifted her gaze to glare at him once more. "To think that I should have to come and chat with you, _again_." She stressed the last word as if it were particularly offensive.

Harry nodded, numbly; helplessly.

"Good." She grabbed a handful of floo powder, and casting it into the fireplace she called out, "Malfoy Manor!" stepped into the flames and was gone.

Harry sat down with a sigh, sinking his head into his hands and shaking it in disbelief.

Malfoy? In love with him? That was crazy. The man couldn't be carrying a torch for him after so long… could he?

He rubbed his face with his hand. This was so confusing.

He sat there and debated with himself for a long while. Eventually the floo chimed again. He glanced up. "Yeah?" he called.

Malfoy's face appeared in the flames. "Potter," he said, licking his lips and glancing about nervously. "I thought it might be time for my son to come home. May I come over to collect him?"

Harry started. Had it been that long already? He'd been lost in thought for hours.

He nodded, then spoke up in case Malfoy couldn't see very well from his vantage point. "Sure thing, Malfoy. In fact," he added, just as Malfoy began to pull away. "I think it'd be a good idea if you came over. I think you and I ought to have a little chat."

Even from where he sat, Harry could see the fear in Malfoy's eyes as he nodded his assent, swallowing convulsively.

_Well,_ thought Harry to himself. _This should be interesting. _


	14. Chapter 14 - I Don't Mind

**Chapter Thirteen:** I Don't Mind

**Disclaimer:**You think I own Harry Potter? *laughs hysterically* *wipes tears from eyes* Yeeeeeah... you just go on thinking that. ;)

**Warnings:** Some swears. Gay man sex WAT.

**A/N: **I am soooooo sorry this has taken so long! I had a bunch of health issues crop up, then I was busy moving, and now school again... and my computer's harddrive died. It doesn't end and part of it was that during the times I had where I could write, I really just needed to breath. However! This chapter is loooooong. Almost twice as long as any other chapter. And the epilogue wraps it all up nicely, and will be up soon!

Also, there will be more sexy times in the epilogue. Just so you know. As a treat. For being so patient!

Thank you soooooo much to everyone who reviewed! I will reply as soon ad I have my computer back and am not either working on my phone or within the time constraints of using a library/school computer, which I need for writing, or school stuff.

Also, my italics button is refusing to work. Sorry about that. :/ And I MIGHT have stretched the power of Legillimency just a tad. My bad.

* * *

Your blood, it flows in from the western sea

Your eyes, they shine in through this shaded tree

Oh I believe in you

These places, they have changed

I don't know anything but you know me,

Oh, you know me

I Don't Mind – Imagine Dragons

* * *

Draco heaved a deep breath as he prepared to floo over to Potter's house. Potter wanted to talk and he was equally dreading and anticipating the conversation. He tried to quell the anticipating part of himself, reminding himself that things between him and Potter were long over and dead with no chance of a rekindling.

He wondered how he would explain his abandoning his attempts to rekindle his friendship with Potter after the accident, and his refusal to tell Potter the truth about their relationship after Ginny's death. On a sudden impulse, he fled to his father's study, where he'd found a small pensieve stowed in the desk some years back. He lifted it out now, and carried it with him as he hurried back to the floo. He straightened his robes and fussed with his hair for a moment, took a deep breath, and dove right in.

He stepped through the floo at Potter's house gracefully, with no small amount of trepidation. This was it. His friendship with Potter could very well be on the line.

Potter stared at him with an unreadable expression as he cast a quick Scourgify on his robes. He was trembling all over but he refused to let it show. He slipped into his mask seemingly effortlessly; Potter could not know how much it cost him just to do that.

They remained in silence as they were; Draco standing by the fireplace, Potter sitting in the papasan across the room from him with one leg crossed over the other, his chin resting on one hand, propped up on his knee. His eyes were hard and unblinking and Ii took all of Draco's self-control not to flinch under his gaze.

"Malfoy," Potter said, inclining his head just a little.

"Potter," he replied curtly.

There was silence between them again, and the longer it went on the more oppressive it felt. Draco couldn't stand it.

"You remember," he said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, I remember," said Potter softly. "Draco."

Draco shivered to hear his given name from Potter's lips, after all this time. Even though it was said with a note of derision, it still sounded beautiful to him.

"How much do you remember?" he asked softly.

"Everything," Potter tore his gaze away from Draco and swallowed. "I remember everything." He paused. "I think. Some of it is blurry, and a lot of it is mixed up and makes no sense. But I get most of it back in dreams, or flashbacks. The legilimency lessons brought it all out… I just need to make sense of it all."

Draco nodded slowly. "You said you wanted to talk."

Potter stared at the floor for several minutes. It felt like hours. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked softly.

Draco snorted. "Would you have believed me if I had?"

Potter smiled; a twisted smile. "Probably not."

Draco shifted from one foot to the other, as inconspicuously as he could.

"Why didn't you fight for me?" Potter's voice was low, almost inaudible. "Fight for us?"

Draco blinked. There was a note of raw pain in Potter's voice that made his heart constrict painfully in his chest. "What do you mean?"

"After my accident," Potter said, quietly. "I forgot about us, but you didn't. You let me go on with my life without ever knowing. Why?"

"You wouldn't even accept me as your friend, Potter," Draco said. He swallowed around the lump In his throat, struggling with the memories that assaulted him. "It was first year all over again; except that it was worse, because I'd had you. I knew what I was missing. And I threw away my pride and begged you to give me the time of day, Potter; I fucking crawled for you!" Draco's voice raised, and he winced. He hadn't meant to yell. He hadn't realised how bitter he still was over Potter's continual rejection of him so many years ago. Suddenly, all he wanted was for Potter to understand, just for once, exactly what he had gone through because of the brunet; not just in eighth year, but since they'd met in Madam Malkins when they were eleven.

Potter was looking at him wide-eyed, obviously startled by his outburst. He leaned forward.

"Potter," he said urgently. "Use legillimency. Look at everything that has to do with you in my head, before you judge me or my actions."

Potter blinked. He opened his mouth then closed it, and pursed his lips. "You're sure?" he asked, finally.

"Yes, Potter," Draco said. "I'm sure."

"I'm a crap Legillimens."

"I'll let you in," Draco promised. "I'll guide you to everything you need to see." He put the pensieve down on the couch, then gazed straight into Potter's eyes. After a moment, Potter raised his wand. He spelled the door shut and locked. He threw up a silencing charm for good measure. Then he turned his wand on Draco.

"Legillimens."

* * *

A small blond boy stood on a stool in Madam Malkins. Excited to be going to school, nervous; afraid he would make no friends. Insecure. Remembering his father's words.

You are a Malfoy. Exude power and confidence, wealth and pride. They will flock to you.

Potter tried to leave the memory; impatient. Draco held him there.

The door opened. A boy stepped in; he was scrawny and wearing tattered clothung much too big for him. His pants were short at the ankles and his shirt at the sleeves, but you could have fit two of him inside them. His hair was scruffy, messy and tousled, like he'd climbed out of bed and not brushed it. He wore awful glasses with thick black rims and wide, round frames that gave him a somewhat owlish appearance.

But his eyes. Behind those horrid glasses were a pair of the brightest, greenest eyes Draco had ever seen.

In that moment, he wanted that boy. For his playmate, his confident; his best friend. He knew at once that this boy was special. This boy must be his.

Draco swallowed.

Power and confidence. Wealth and pride.

He put on the mask his father had taught him to wear, one of arrogance and superiority. He attempted to channel his father as he spoke to the boy, eager to be his friend. To win him, by any means necessary.

Potter had stopped trying to leave the memory, surprised by the emotions he felt from Draco's eleven year old self. He watched patiently as the conversation played out; seeing for the first time how eager and nervous Draco had been, how desperate to impress him, how afraid he had failed as he bumbled through his attempts to be like the man he admired most in an effort to win Potter's affections.

Potter watched himself leave, and listened to young Draco silently berating himself for failing to catch the brunet's name, for not even earning a smile.

His desperate hope that he would meet the boy again on the train; that they would be sorted into Slytherin together, and they would become friends.

Draco moved to the next memory, taking Potter with him.

Young Draco stood in shock before the compartment, mentally reeling. He attempted to pull himself together. Two boys he knew because they were sons of his father's associates flanked him. It would not do to show weakness in front of them.

He put on his mask, and opened the compartment. The redhead - a Weasley, he guessed - onsulted his name. Stung, he snapped back, and offered his hand to Harry Potter, confident the brunet would choose him. He had to feel the connection between them, as Draco did.

Then Potter snubbed him. Humiliated him. He recoiled mentally, and just s bit physically as well. Pain bloomed within him, and rage; he could not accept this. But he was a Malfoy, and he would not, could not beg. He embraced the pain as it filled him, and he decided that Harry Potter was the person he hated most on this earth. That he would humble and humiliate Potter as he had been humbled and humiliated.

Draco skimped over the next few years, showing only how the miserable little knot in his chest of want and longing, anger and bitterness flooded his system every time he looked at Young Potter, and fueled his interactions with the other boy.

Draco paused long enough for Potter to feel the conflict of emotion he'd felt during the Tri-Wizard tournament; the combined resentment and desire for revenge, the fear. The worry that Young Potter would be seriously hurt. Young Draco realised he didn't want Potter to die; that the very thought made something quite painful uncurl in his chest and claw at his insides. The realization made him uncomfortable and he pointedly chose not to examine it too closely.

Draco moved on to the Yule Ball. Young Draco had asked his best friend, Pansy, and spent the whole evening watching Young Potter and scowling at Young Potter and ranting on and on and on about Young Potter. Not to mention his date. He hated her fiercely and he wasn't even sure what her name was. Havarti or something. Seriously, who named their kid after cheese?

Draco felt Potter's amusement as his younger self ranted and railed over Young Potter's date. He completely ignored Pansy while they danced; instead fuming as he watched Potter mangle the dance with the girl he came with, that twin. He also pointedly ranted about Cho, whom he noticed Potter spending an inordinate amount of time goggling over. He all but threw a fit every time he caught Potter staring at her.

Pansy finally turned to him and said, "You're just jealous, Draco. You've got a Potter obsession; have had one since first year. Now, I think you want to snog him."

Potter felt Young Draco's combined horror and arousal at her words; saw the fantasies that rushed through Young Draco's mind and burned themselves into his brain. He saw Young Draco's flash of insight; that the nameless, faceless blur who starred in his wet dreams and wank fantasies had a head full of chaotic black hair, and whose form was a little bit too flat and hard to be female.

He tried to change that. He tried to fantasize about girls. Any girl. First, he tried a soft, curvy blonde, because that was about as far away from Young Potter as he could get. It didn't work; Draco wasn't even remotely aroused. He tried borrowing magazines from Blaise. None of the girls in them gave him the slightest reaction. But as he stroked his cock Young Potter's face flashed unbidden into his mind, the way he'd looked so nervous and uncertain at the dance, the cute (and since when did Draco think anything about Potter was cute?) way he stumbled over the steps and no doubt damaged his partner's toes, the way he bit his lip and scrunched his forehead as he made an effort to get it right. In an instant Young Draco was hard, hard and aching.

In a panic, he tried to think of Pansy, but his erection flagged. In the end, soft curves gave way to smooth, firm muscles, long curls became a tangle of short black hair, and when a pair of brilliant green eyes looked up at him and stared into his unblinking, he came and came and came; shouting out Potter's name behind his locked and silenced bed curtains.

Draco skimmed over the next few years, pausing just long enough to touch on Young Draco's struggle to accept his sexuality and refusal to acknowledge his growing feelings for Young Potter. The helpless, desperate way he tried to ignore how much Young Potter meant to him, how he watched Young Potter like a man obsessed and fell deeper and deeper in love with him. How he noticed everything about the Gryffindor, and was constantly caught between the twin emotions of loving him and despising him. How bitter it made him. The despair he felt. How every time he lashed out at Young Potter a piece of his heart broke, until it felt like all that was left of him were broken pieces, shattered and ground to powder, never to be restored.

Draco skimmed through the horror that was Voldemort, and he felt Potter's sympathy as he caught glimpses of the horrors Young Draco endured.

Sectumsempra. He felt Young Draco's pain; horror at himself that he could have tried to Crucio Young Potter, and agony that Young Potter had hated him enough to use a spell that could have left him dead. Young Draco wondered if Young Potter wanted him dead, and the thought shattered his heart even more than he would have thought possible. He wished he had died. Then he would be free; free from his awful task, and free from Young Potter.

Draco moved on. He skimmed through the rest of the war, slowing when Young Potter was brought to the Manor, and he was asked to identify him. He refused to identify Young Potter or his friends. He didn't care so much about the Mudblood and the Weasel; but identifying them was as good as identifying Young Potter. Young Draco couldn't do that. He would have done anything to avoid handing Young Potter over to the Dark Lord – even defying his father. He was on Young Potter's side; Young Potter's man, heart and soul.

He was already lost.

His relief when Young Potter got away; his disappointment that he hadn't been able to help, to let Young Potter know that he was on his side mingling with the relief that his family would not have to know he was a traitor. He would not have to feel their disappointment in him.

They saw how Young Draco had to use every bit of Occlumency he knew to keep the Dark Lord from realising that he no supported Voldemort's greatest enemy.

Draco skimmed to the Room of Requirement. Young Draco's acceptance of the fact that he was hopelessly, ridiculously in love with Harry Potter. How desperately he longed for Young Potter, how he fell back on his old way of interacting with him because he didn't know what else to do. It was either snog Young Potter or snark at him, and Young Draco knew despairingly that he might have been in love since he was eleven years old, but Young Potter had always and would always hate him. Even if he didn't, Young Potter couldn't love him, and Young Draco didn't know how to handle the pain of it.

Draco showed Potter how their growing friendship had affected him. He slowed down; made sure Potter saw all the details of how they gradually became close. How Young Draco was alternately deliriously happy to have Young Potter's friendship, at long last, and despairingly unhappy; because it could never, would never be enough for him.

He showed Potter their clumsy courtship; from that first, surprising kiss, to their final night in the Room of Requirement and their subsequent walk to the Apparition point as Young Potter prepared to leave for the Weasley's. He made sure Potter felt every high Young Draco had felt; every ounce of love and happiness and disbelief at his incredible, wonderful fortune to have his love returned. The feeling of loving and being loved in return.

He showed Potter his premonition; the horrible feeling that gripped him and convinced him that he would lose Young Potter if he left for the Weasley's. How Young Potter had brushed it off, laughing. Kissing him, promising to tell his friends all about them and come back to Young Draco, and they could be together publicly. Promising to love him forever.

Draco felt Potter's sadness as he watched the two boys cuddling and whispering promises of love and of the future; promises that would never be. Watching them as they called one another "Harry" and "Draco", and seeing how comfortable and right they were together.

He showed Potter his unhappiness and fear when no owls came over the remainder of the holidays, and how frantic he felt when his owls returned, his letters unopened. How he looked for Young Potter when he returned to school, and his terror and dread when Young Potter wasn't there, and no one would tell him where he was.

His overwhelming relief and joy when he finally ran into Young Potter in a corridor, a month and a half into the new semester. How quickly that joy turned to horror when he heard about Young Potter's condition, and his eagerness to try and give Young Potter his memories.

How thoroughly Young Potter had rejected him. How he'd cried there in the corridor, like a child; great gasping sobs that threatened to strangle him in their intensity.

How he didn't give up. How he threw his pride away and hounded Young Potter, begging him for the time of day; watching him, following him, all but crawling around licking Young Potter's boots.

How he refused to give up hope; how he kept believing that what they'd had was too special, too precious to be over.

Then the day came when he ran after Young Potter and found him in an alcove in the Third Floor Charms corridor, attempting to remove the Weaselette's tonsils with his tongue.

"Bloody fucking hell, Malfoy; will you leave me alone?" Young Potter had yelled at him. Young Draco barely heard. His mind was still frozen around the picture of Harry, his Harry snogging the breath out of the redheaded girl. She gave him a knowing smirk and he thought, She knows.

He knew he was being irrational. There was no reason to think she knew. But she did. He was sure of it. He got his proof later that day, when she cornered him and hissed at him, "Stay the fuck away from Harry, you faggot!" He stared at her, shocked.

"He doesn't want anything to do with you anymore, and he never will. Don't get any ideas about changing his mind; none of us will let him." She shot him a vicious smile. "Harry's mine. He always has been, and he always will be. I'm willing to overlook his indiscretion with you because he was clearly traumatized from the war, but he's mine, and you will stay away from him. Fucking poof." She turned and walked away.

His stomach lurched because he realised that Young Potter had kept his promise; he had told his friends, and when he got his memory back they had kept the truth from him. There was nothing Young Draco could do. He was helpless in the face of their overwhelming hatred, hatred he'd spent years cultivating. And Harry had already moved on.

After that he saw them snogging everywhere he went. They were very free and easy with the PDA. Young Draco had not known Young Potter to be such an exhibitionist. It didn't get easier to see them with time; it only got harder. But Young Draco couldn't give up.

He kept trying, desperately, to get Young Potter's attention, to get him alone. Weasel and the Weaselette both did their best to thwart him, and he often had to deal with one or the other hissing insults at him about his sexuality. Both warned him away from Young Potter. Even Young Potter warned him away.

If that wasn't enough, he was bullied again, mercilessly. Once it became obvious that he was no longer under Young Potter's protection, the other students felt free to torment him as they saw fit.

Young Draco didn't care. Well, he did, but he didn't let it stop him, any more than he let the Weasels and even Young Potter intimidate him into backing down. Not until the day he saw Young Potter and the Weaselette slipping into the Room of Requirement, giggling and blushing and holding hands.

They didn't come out all night. Young Draco knew because he slept in the corridor, tears drying on his face.

That was when he gave up.

Draco felt Potter's shock and disgust at the way he had been treated, especially by the Weasels. He felt Potter's horror at what his younger self had put Young Draco through, both wittingly and unwittingly. He felt Potter's grief at the way their relationship had died; the poisonous way it had been slaughtered while still in its infancy.

Potter made to pull out, but Draco pushed forwards. In for a knut, in for a galleon, he thought. He showed Potter how miserable he was during the ensuing months and even years. How he could never put Potter out of his mind; how he could not stop loving the boy who had stolen his heart at eleven in a robe shop on Diagon Alley.

He showed Potter his marriage, his relationship with Astoria; Scorpius' conception and the thoughts that fueled it. He showed Potter how there was no one else in those long, lonely years, both because he could not forget his first love, and because he was so afraid of being hurt again that he closed himself off against anyone else.

He showed Potter how for twenty long years he was haunted by eyes of the deepest green.

He showed Potter the present; how he'd been unable to help himself when he found himself drawn into Potter's life again, how much their burgeoning friendship meant to him, how as he'd gotten to know the man Potter had become he'd fallen in love all over again.

He showed Potter his terror that the man would end their friendship, how friendship was all he expected from Potter; all he dared to hope for. Not all he wanted, but all he would ask and how he did not know how he would manage if Potter were to cut him out of his life again.

He laid himself bare before Potter, held nothing back. He was as un-Slytherin as it was possible to be; rather than following his preservation instincts, he chose to hide nothing from Potter's searching gaze.

* * *

Then it was over, and they were both lurching on their feet as they were pulled abruptly back into the present. They both staggered at the transition from having spent so long in Draco's mind.

Draco felt like they had spent years inside his head, reliving years of his life. In reality, he knew it must have been a matter of hours; not even that, because the sun outside the window had not yet begun to set. A glance at the clock on the mantelpiece shocked him; they had been gone only an hour.

"I understand that it's a lot to take in," he said quietly, when he felt he could speak again. "If you have any questions, or if there was anything you didn't understand or wanted to clarify, I brought a pensieve." He gestured to the couch. He raked a hand through his hair. So much for all my primping and grooming, he thought with a grimace. "I'm sorry if it was too much. But I wanted to show you everything."

"Don't apologize." Potter stared at the floor, looking shell-socked and miserable. "I'm sorry." He raised his eyes to Draco's. "Malfoy – Draco – I'm so, so sorry."

"It's not your fault, Potter," he said softly. His heart gave a small leap. It looked like Potter was going to forgive him. Perhaps their friendship wasn't over, after all.

"Can you forgive me?" Potter asked, looking at him pleadingly. Draco blinked.

"Forgive you?" he asked stupidly.

"For– oh, Merlin, for everything." Potter stared at the floor again, looking lost. "I was an arse, and you suffered so much because of me, and-"

"I forgave you a long time ago, Potter," Draco answered, hope flaring within him.

Potter raised his eyes again, and looked at him. "You did," he said softly. "You really– Merlin, you really did." There was wonder in his tone.

"Yes." Draco swallowed. "It- it wasn't easy." Everything felt so fresh, so raw, after having just relived it. The old wounds had reopened and Draco was trying desperately to ignore them. He would not break down and cry in front of Potter; he would not. "But I never really had a choice, you know." He gave a hollow laugh.

They stared at one another for what felt like hours, and Draco felt tears prickling his eyes. Weak! His mind screamed at him, but he didn't know how to make it stop. The pain had all been brought to the surface again, and try as he might, he was drowning in it. The bright green gaze wasn't helping him. He let out a breath that sounded like a ragged gasp as he struggled not to let go of his tears in front of Potter, and dropped his eyes.

Suddenly Potter's arms were around him and Potter was kissing the tears from his eyes, whispering, "Don't cry, love; don't cry. Merlin, please don't cry."

He clutched at Potter like a drowning man, head swimming with this development, trying to understand what was happening.

And then Potter was kissing him, and Merlin! Draco hadn't been kissed in so long, and this was Potter!

Potter, Potter, Potter.

He didn't realise he was speaking out loud, around their kisses, until Potter whispered against his lips, "Call me Harry."

Harry.

Harry, Harry, Harry.

His Harry.

Harry, whose lips were like coming home.

Their kisses were needy, desperate things that felt like Fiendfyre, out of control and consuming them. Harry's lips were rough and chapped and when he teased Draco's mouth for entrance with his tongue he tasted of spearmint and oranges, with an aftertaste of chocolate. Draco laughed into the kiss a little bit, and Harry nipped him playfully.

Then Draco was laughing and crying all at once, and it was glorious; heaven on earth just to feel Harry's strong arms around him – bigger and more muscled than they'd been when he was a teen, but still undeniably Harry's arms – and Harry's lips on his, and his tongue dancing in Draco's mouth.

Harry pulled away to nuzzle at his neck, nipping his earlobe and whispering endearments and reassurances into his ear. Draco felt like his heart was breaking all over again, this time from happiness.

Their bodies pressed close together and Draco gasped as he felt the friction against an erection he hadn't even realised he had. They groaned as they moved together, and Draco wanted more, seizing Harry's lips in a frenzy and plundering Harry's mouth with his tongue. He frotted against Harry and now it was Harry who gasped, and pulled away murmuring, "Merlin, Draco!" He stepped back, placing a hand on Draco's chest. Draco felt his chest constrict, and wondered what Harry wanted to say.

"The children, Draco," he whispered, glancing towards the doorway. "The children are here."

"Door's locked, and silenced," Draco pointed out, pulling Harry close again. Harry closed his eyes as Draco bent forward and tasted his neck. Merlin, the man tasted sweet and salty and his scent was overpowering; spicy and masculine and Harry, and sweet Circe, how he'd missed this!

"Draco," Harry groaned, pushing him back again. "I need to check on them; it's been over an hour now, and Merlin knows what they've gotten up to in this time."

Draco hated it that Harry was right. He wanted more, so much more; but he had already been given more than he could have hoped for. He smiled at Harry tentatively, uncertain.

"So this… us… we're…?" He left the question in the air.

"We're trying again," answered Harry. "If you want to."

"Merlin, yes," breathed Draco. "So much."

Harry laughed and buried his face in Draco's chest, the way he used to, and Draco suddenly found it hard to breathe. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and willed himself not to cry again; not to make a fool of himself. He tightened his arms around Harry.

"I should go," Harry mumbled into his chest. "Check on the kids."

"Yeah."

They were silent for a few moments.

"Harry?"

"Mmm."

"What are we going to tell them?"

Harry lifted his head, and stared at the ceiling. "Nothing, right now, I think."

"Nothing?" A sliver of doubt wormed its way into Draco's happiness.

"I think we should take things slowly."

Draco blinked at him. "Slowly?"

"Yeah." Harry shifted, then met his eyes. "I want to do things right, this time. Partly because we have kids, and that complicates things, and partly for us." He swallowed. "For you."

"For me?"

"I don't want to hurt you, Draco. Not more than I already have. I don't want to screw this up. I want to take my time, and cherish you properly."

Draco closed his eyes and leaned forward, resting his cheek against the top of Harry's head. He said nothing, just reveled in their closeness. He rolled that word, "cherish", around in his head for a while.

For the first time in a long time, Draco felt loved.

* * *

Al and Score finished drawing up their grand plan. It was titled, "Make Our Dads Make Up". The creativity the title lacked was more than made up for by the scheme itself, which featured various ways in which they could attempt to convince their fathers that the other was in mortal peril, thus causing the men to re-evaluate their anger at one another and choose to make up since life was short and there was no need to fight over something silly.

Because, whatever they were fighting over, it must be silly, the boys reasoned.

They determined that the following day, after they firecalled one another, they would each pretend to have heard horrible news about the other's father's impending demise.

It was foolproof.

Thus Scorpius flooed home happy, secure in the knowledge that he would soon be saving his father's friendship.

Doing good deeds felt so good!

The following day, as planned, they had their firecall, and ended it prematurely so that they could both head to their fathers and relay the dreadful news.

Scorpius hesitated in front of the parlor doors and took a deep breath, preparing for the performance of his life. He burst in on his father and grandmother with a white face.

"Dad! Dad, come quick; it's awful! There's been an accident!"

"What?" His dad was on his feet in a moment. "What happened?"

"It's Al's dad! He's hurt bad!"

The blood drained from his dad's face. "No," he whispered.

"Al said he might be dying!"

Scorpius' dad swayed on his feet, putting out a hand and grabbing the back of the chair he'd been sitting in to steady himself. If possible he turned even whiter. "Circe, no," he whispered in a strangled sounding voice.

"Oh, no," whispered his grandmother, a hand to her throat, eyes wide. "Draco."

"You have to come, we have to go over there right now!"

Scorpius was proud of his dad. He didn't hesitate. He ran to the floo, threw in a handful of powder, yelled, "Number 12, Grimmauld Place!" and jumped right through. Scorpius quickly followed.

The sight that greeted his eyes was of two wild eyed men standing in the middle of the room, staring at one another in disbelief, while Al hung in the background, grinning.

"What," Al's dad ground out between gritted teeth, "Is going on here?"

"I'd like to know that, as well," managed Scorpius' dad in his iciest voice. Scorpius swallowed. He knew that voice, and it did not bode well.

"Now that you're both here," Al said, cheerfully, "And you were both so worried about one another when you thought something bad had happened to the other, you can see that you really care about each other. It's silly to fight. So make up!" He looked inordinately pleased with himself.

Scorpius' dad turned his icy glare on him. Scorpius suddenly felt that maybe this plan hadn't been the smartest course of action.

"Let me get this straight," said Al's dad. "You two knew we were fighting, and you did this because you wanted us to make up?"

"Yep!" Al beamed.

"You lied to me," murmured Scorpius' dad, still shooting him the death glare. "You said there had been an accident; that Har- Mr. Potter might be dying."

Scorpius swallowed hard. "But we had to get you to make up somehow," he said in a small voice.

Al's dad started laughing. Scorpius' dad glanced at him, and the corners of his mouth twitched. His eyes softened.

"Harry," he said in an exasperated voice, but his tone was fond.

Scorpius knew then that whatever punishment he and Al were given, it was worth it. After all, their dads were no longer fighting.

* * *

Harry's version of taking it slow was going to kill Draco. Over the summer holidays, they met almost daily, after Harry got off work, or on his days off, going to one house or the other, spending time together while their children played. They were never completely alone, or at least not for very long, and while their talks were long and frequent, physically things hadn't progressed beyond a few chaste kisses. Every time things began to heat up, Harry would pull away and remind Draco that the children were home.

Draco began to wonder if Harry was attracted to him anymore. He was painfully conscious of his thinning hair; even though his mother had assured him it was barely noticeable. He and Harry went on dates, on occasion, but things always ended at the door, where they would part ways with a kiss goodbye, and Draco was never invited in while the children were sleeping. Harry would always go in to see the sitter off after bidding Draco goodnight. It did not do wonders for his self-esteem.

The end result was that he spent an inordinate amount of time wanking himself raw over Harry, and feeling a trifle miserable that Harry didn't seem to want him the way he wanted Harry.

* * *

Lucius' parole hearing went well. Harry spoke, and it impressed the panel, Draco was sure of it. All the hard work he and his mother had done, researching precedents, outlining Lucius' good behavior and contributions to society before the war, as well as his behavior while incarcerated, added up to an impressive case. Lucius himself gave testimony, and the humble, repentant way he faced the panel seemed to convince them. They advised the Malfoys that they would have a decision by the end of August.

Draco was completely jittery during the months where he waited to hear the results of the parole board and the Wizangamot's decision. He was rather resentful of the fact that they hadn't been able to present their case directly to the Wizangamot, that they'd had to go through a panel who would be turning over their findings to the Wizangamot, but he tried to be grateful that his father was allowed an appeal at all.

When the verdict finally came back that Lucius would be coming home in September, Harry celebrated along with him.

* * *

The trip to King's Cross was markedly different this year. At the station, Albus and Scorpius found each other immediately and behaved as though they hadn't seen one another almost every day of the summer hols. Draco hid a smile as he watched them chatter away animatedly. His eyes found Harry's and they softened. Harry smiled at him and his heart gave a little flutter.

When he saw the Weasel there he felt himself stiffen. Weasel looked as uncomfortable as he felt, but stepped forward. "I owe you an apology, Malfoy," he said in a low voice. "My sister and I did some pretty shitty things to you, and the most shitty of all was hiding the truth from Harry and not letting him make his own choices. If I could change that, I would. But I can't. I can only say that I'm really, truly sorry." Draco blinked. He actually looked sincere.

"I'm glad that you and Harry are starting over; he deserves to be happy. But if you hurt him, I'll kill you."

Draco snorted. "I'd cut off my own arm before I hurt Harry," he answered.

"Good," said Weasel, and gave a satisfied nod before stepping away. Draco stared. He would always hate Weasel; his hatred cemented by what the Weasel and his sister had done to him and to Harry, but he supposed in time he would come to tolerate the cretin's presence in Harry's life. At least it looked like things were strained between them, and that suited Draco just fine.

They saw the boys off, and Rose Weasley. Draco was chagrinned to realise she and Scorpius had become friends over the last term, but he resigned himself to it, realising that she was Al's cousin and Harry's neice.

As they waved goodbye to the train, he heard Harry and Granger confirming plans for Lily to go for a sleepover with Hugo. Draco was surprised. He would have thought Harry would be keeping her close after having just sent the boys away for the term.

Harry waved goodbye as Granger and Weasel side-alonged Lily and Hugo, then he turned to Draco. "Come over for a bit?" he suggested, pulling at his hair the way he did when he was nervous. Draco swallowed. It would be the first time he had been invited to Harry's house when the children weren't home.

They apparated in together – the wards had been set to allow Draco entrance, and Draco had keyed the Manor wards similarly for Harry. Harry stumbled and Draco reached out to catch him.

"Steady now, Potter," he smiled.

Harry looked at him, and his cheeks pinked. Draco thought he looked positively edible, and started to pull away so that he didn't start nibbling at Harry and get pushed away again. Harry stopped him.

"The kids aren't here, now," he said in a low voice.

Draco stared at him. Harry blushed a deeper red. "Potter," Draco drawled. "Are you suggesting-"

"Shut up and kiss me, you git!" Harry stamped his foot.

Draco was more than happy to oblige.

This kiss was different from all the chaste kisses they'd been sharing all summer. Their teeth clashed and their tongues battled for dominance. It was a hungry kiss, devouring, taking; promising and demanding more in return. Draco was hard in seconds.

Their bodies crushed together and Draco moaned into Harry's mouth as he felt the other man's erection against his own, through the cloth. They were both wearing entirely too many clothes. Harry seemed to have the same idea, because he untucked Draco's shirt and began trying to pull it off.

He pulled back and reached out to steady Harry's hands. "Slow, Potter; remember?"

"We have all night for slow," Harry growled impatiently. "We can make love till dawn if you want; but what I really want right now is for you to fuck me."

Draco's mouth went dry and he felt he almost could have come just from hearing those words. He closed his eyes.

"Bed. Now."

Harry nodded, and side-alonged him to the bedroom. Draco had never been there before, but he really didn't pay much attention to the room now.

They began kissing again, and stripping one another's clothes off eagerly. Draco fumbled at Harry's zip, then slid his muggle jeans down to his ankles, as Harry stepped out of them Draco eyed his prick through his pants, straining and leaking at the tip. He wondered if it looked the same as he remembered, and suddenly could not wait to find out. He slid Harry's pants off, freeing his erection, and as he looked at the long, thick cock jutting out from black curls, his mouth watered at the sight. He wondered if Harry tasted as good as he remembered, and leaned forward, opening his mouth and swallowing the other man down.

Harry let out a strangled cry and threw his head back, his hands coming to fist in Draco's hair. "Draco!" he gasped. "What are you- oh, sweet Merlin!" Draco bobbed his head eagerly, sucking up Harry's salty-bitter taste and humming happily at the cries and moans he pulled from the other man's throat.

Harry gripped his head and pulled him back, saying, "Stop; Draco, stop!"

"What's wrong?"

"If you keep doing that, I'll come!"

Draco grinned. "That's the point!"

"I want to come with you inside me." With Harry's deep green eyes staring into his as he said that, it was a wonder Draco didn't come right there.

"Okay," he croaked out.

He fumbled at his own trousers and Harry helped him get them off. "Do you have lube?"

Harry climbed up on the bed, then reached into the bedside drawer. He pulled out an unopened tube of lube. He lay back on the bed, spread his legs and grinned at Draco. He opened the tube and squeezed some onto his fingers, then slid one finger inside himself. He threw his head back and moaned as he began to move it in and out.

Draco swallowed, aching with desire. Harry looked incredible, finger-fucking himself. He moved to two fingers, and Draco's mouth ran dry as he watched Harry scissoring them and fucking himself on them, moaning wantonly the while.

Harry opened his eyes and stared into Draco's, panting. "Fuck me, lover," he whispered, and Draco didn't wait for any further invitation.

He slid forward on the bed, taking the lube and squeezing a liberal amount over his cock before slicking it. He aligned himself carefully, then slid into Harry's hot, tight channel. He threw his own head back and hissed his pleasure.

"Oh, gods, Harry," he groaned. He slid in balls-deep and stopped, panting, waiting for Harry to adjust. "You feel incredible. So tight." He closed his eyes.

"Move," said Harry, thrusting his hips up, and Draco did. "Faster, harder," Harry commanded, panting, and he did. He grabbed Harry's legs and hooked Harry's ankles over his shoulders, ramming home over and over, bending Harry almost double. He was afraid for a moment that he was hurting Harry, but as he adjusted his angle Harry screamed in pleasure and began begging him not to stop.

He felt his balls tighten, and realised he couldn't last. It had been too long. He began fisting Harry's cock, and Harry let out a constant chant of, "Yes, yes, Draco, gods, Merlin, yes, Draco!"

Then Harry came explosively all over his chest, and with a hoarse cry, Draco came too.

They collapsed against each other and held tight, gasping in the afterglow, trailing soft kisses across one another's faces.

Once they'd recovered, they started over, but the second time they went slowly, taking time to learn one another's bodies again and enjoy it.


End file.
